Vox Libertas
by ForFutureReference
Summary: Due to things playing out a bit differently in the last few minutes of the Quell, the rescue also goes a bit differently than expected. Now Peeta has the responsibility of representing the Rebellion thrust upon him. No pressure. *Mainly Peeta POV.*
1. Prologue

**Prologue: The Missing Nail**

"Guys, we have a problem."

Most of us have been on edge ever since we heard the cannon go off right after Katniss and Johanna left, and there's now this heightened feeling of anxiety that never leaves my gut.

So naturally, when we hear Chaff's voice with no prelude to his arrival, Finnick and I jump, and Finnick almost sends a trident hurtling in his direction before recognition sets in.

_How can someone that big sneak up on us like that?  
_

Chaff ignores our surprised reactions. He's out of breath and covered in blood, though judging from the apparent lack of injuries, it's not his.

"What's wrong?" Finnick asks. " I thought you agreed to keep separate from us to keep watch."

"I did, and that's what I'm here about. Just came across the pair from Two. Managed to ambush them and kill Brutus, but Enobaria escaped. I think she may be headed in your direction. Came across the wire and followed it up. Speaking of which: where's Fire Girl and Johanna?"

Almost in response to his question, the wire along the ground jumps back to us in coils, signifying that it had just been cut. The feeling of anxiety quickly shifts to dread, then full-blown panic. _I never should've agreed to splitting us up._

I scream out Katniss' name and start to run towards her before I'm immediately tackled to the ground by Finnick.

"Chaff, I need somebody to watch over Peeta and Beetee. I'm going over to catch up with the girls. No cannons sounded yet, which should be a promising sign." Before I can say anything, he bounds off swiftly like an deer in flight. After he leaves, the only thing that can be heard is Beetee, either humming a tune to himself or muttering a disturbingly wide assortment of profanities, as he works on the tree; apparently he's oblivious to the fact that his plan had just been sabotaged.

I get up and try to follow Finnick, but Chaff's arm wraps around my torso, pinning me in place, which is actually impressive for someone with just one hand. I struggle against him and scream out Katniss' name some more.

"Get off me!" I snarl.

"Finnick told me to watch over you guys, and I can't do that while your apparently unarmed ass goes running off into the woods."

_Oh yeah, Beetee still has my knife…_

Despite that inconvenient fact, as well as my unwillingness to hurt Chaff after all that camaraderie we built up during the training, I'm running out of options. I attempt some of the wrestling moves I know to get out of a lock, but that just makes him tighten his hold.

"Dammit boy, quit your squirming! I'll cripple you if I have to."

I give him a mirthless smile. "You wouldn't dare injure me."

"No, but I could probably break that fancy leg of yours.

"Which would be a shame when the alliance is over; I would hate for there to be no challenge when I hunt you down."

The hasty way at which he adds the last part makes me suspect that it was just for the benefit of the audiences. If that is the case, then the suspicion that I had early on in the game was correct: there is no intention to end the alliance. Their goal is to help keep us, or at least Katniss, alive, even if it results in their death. That's all well and good, but what do they have planned?

Also, allies or not, they are deluding themselves if that's going to keep me away from her.

I narrow my eyes at him. "I'd like to see you tr—"

"Got it!"

Beetee's shout interrupts our impending scuffle, and we are graced by the sight of him running past us. I'm actually a bit surprised that he could run so quickly with his physical build, not to mention the wound he received. There is an expression on his face that's a mixture of fear and… elation?

All we do is just stand there awkwardly and gawk at his retreating figure.

Chaff mutters, "The hell…"

Cold realization dawns on me: _We're standing right next to the tree…_

Before I can warn Chaff that we really do need to get a move on, lightning strikes and the ensuing blast knocks us both into oblivion.

~oOo~

"Volts, tell me why I shouldn't wring that scrawny little neck of yours."

I wake up to the sound of Chaff gruff voice and feeling like a sack of flour is lying on top of my head.

Looking around, I see that Chaff and I are in hospital beds on a hovercraft. Though we have some tubes stuck in our arms, we aren't restrained. Judging from that, as well as the comfortable way that Beetee is sitting in front of us, my initial fear that we were taken by the Capitol begins to recede.

Beetee, who's patched-up and in his own hospital gown, looks confused. "I don't see what the issue is. I got you all out, didn't I?"

"And forgot to mention the little fact of there being an exploding tree?"

"Actually, it wasn't the tree that exploded. It was the for—"

"I don't give a damn if it was Loverboy here who exploded! You should have warned us."

"But I did."

"Shouting 'Got it!' does not qualify as a warning." Chaff is growing louder and more exasperated by the moment; he actually looks like he's ready to give Beetee a complete beat-down.

At this, Beetee simply sighs: "If I explained the plan in more detail, it may have blown our entire cover, which would have meant that none of us would have been able to escape."

Chaff's anger begins to dissipate, though he still seems to be more than a bit displeased. I decide to take that opportunity to ask Beetee some questions of my own.

"So that whole part about the electrocuting the water was a feint?"

"Correct." Beetee seems to be pleased that there is a little less hostility directed towards him this time. "The actual plan was to utilize the lightning strike to overload the force field to allow for the hovercraft to pick us up. That is why I needed to utilize your knife, and that is why Plutarch set-up the arena the way it was and included the spool of wire."

"You mean to say that the Head Gamemaker was helping us escape?"

"I was indeed." Plutarch Heavensbee says as he comes into our room. Following him is Haymitch, who's looking strangely sober.

They decide to cut to the chase and give me the picture of what's going on: The underground movement to oppose the power of the Capitol. The effect we had when we were about to eat the berries, during our victory tour, and when I dropped that bombshell during the interview. Our symbolic nature. The plan to break us out of the Quarter Quell arena, including the participation of many of the victors plus the Gamemaker. The fact that now most of the districts are in full-scale rebellion; many are calling it the "Mockingjay Rebellion". That District Thirteen is indeed not only destroyed, but is the head of the said rebellion. And that we are headed there right now.

"That's great! By the way, is Katniss doing alright? The line cut had me worried, but I didn't hear any cannon fire."

When no one responds, a knot of growing unease forms in my stomach.

"Haymitch, where's Katniss?"

He attempts to skirt around the question in a matter-of-fact tone. "We wanted to grab both of you, as well as well as Beetee due to his technical know-how. So when you separated—"

"Where. Is. Katniss?" My voice gains a hard edge to it as the knot builds up tension.

"… She was captured by the Capital, as were Johanna, Finnick, and Enobaria. I'm sorry."

Haymitch barely finishes his sentence before my vision clouds, and I lunge forward out of bed with the expressed intent of wrapping my hands around his neck. Instead, I simply end up falling face-first on the floor due to the now-obvious lack of my left leg. Before I can get myself up, something pumps sedatives through the tube in my arm. It takes effect almost immediately, making me unable to move effectively from my prone position.

As I'm hauled back onto my bed, I manage to muster up enough energy to scream repeatedly, "YOU PROMISED!"

The last thing I hear, as unconsciousness takes me and my screams fade into whimpers, is Haymitch's somber voice: "Yeah, I did. I promised her that we would get you back alive."

* * *

**A/N: Yeah yeah, I know… The premise (Peeta and Katniss switching places for Mockingjay) is about as original as a Chinatown DVD. Still, it's a concept I thought would be interesting to tackle. Katniss and Peeta have drastically different personalities; therefore it makes sense that both the Capitol and Thirteen, respectively, may treat them differently. That in turn, would effect things down the road. Whether for better or worse is something that's up in the air. What I don't wish to do is merely a palette swap of Mockingjay.  
**

**Of course,******** things initially will stick pretty close to script, but I hope for divergence down the road.** Also, for the sake of homage, there will be a collection of stuff that justifiably plays out like canon in spite of the nail, but even that will likely have a twist to it.  


**Disclaimers: **

**If you're expecting a KatPee romance story, you'll probably be disappointed. Not saying there won't be elements, especially considering certain character dynamics, but it would probably constitute less than 5%.**

**Story may be a bit exposition-heavy, though hopefully concentrated towards the beginning. **

**This is war, so there will be detailed scenes or certain themes some may find upsetting. Also, Peeta's a stressed-out adolescent boy surrounded by soldiers and guys like Haymitch; foul language is pretty much something to be expected.  
**

**In any case, here's to a potentially interesting ride. **

**Feedback (reviews, PMs, etc...) would be much appreciated.  
**


	2. Bad News

I've been played, and it's so obvious that I should've seen it coming.

Of course he also had promised Katniss that I'd survive this. It encouraged us to protect one another so that at least one of us had a good chance at being rescued.

I don't know what they have planned for me. Honestly, I don't really give a damn right now.

To his credit, Haymitch doesn't show his face to me for the rest of the trip. If there's anything he wants, he relays the message to me through Chaff or Beetee. In the end, I do understand why he did what he did. Also, I know that we'll have to face each other soon, but now is not the time.

I spend most of the journey in my room, either in bed or on the chair next to it. And it's not because I'm moping. Yes, part of it is so I don't have to run into Haymitch. However, another part is that ever since I ran into that force field, and then said force field exploded, my fake leg has been malfunctioning. Beetee is currently working on it, but he tells me that, since prosthetics aren't his specialty, it probably won't be up to optimal condition. So I'll likely be walking with a limp until a better repair person or replacement is found.

_Oh well, it's not as if I was a graceful person even when I had two natural and uninjured legs._

If there is any person I really talk with, it's Chaff. There's the obvious fact that we share a room, but the main thing is that we already gained that repertoire before the Quell. The great thing about him is that, while he generally has a sardonic wit similar to Haymitch, he is way more good-natured and self-depreciating about it. He's also understanding enough not to prod or heap pity upon me. So the inane banter we have actually helps relieve a lot of the stress.

Beetee's someone else that I get along with. However, while friendly, he's not exactly the sociable or talkative type. Well, unless it has to do with something tech-related, in which case the rest of us usually have no clue what he's talking about. He also has this detached way of viewing things that can sometimes border on the unnerving.

I have little tolerance for Plutarch. Even without his former blood-stained position as Head Gamemaker, secretly a rebel or not, there is simply this pompous overbearing quality of his that is completely off-putting and sets my teeth on edge.

To avoid being detected or giving away our intended destination, the hovercraft has been taking a roundabout path through the districts, always staying away from unpopulated areas. Also, as the Capitol and Two were the two places that we had to avoid completely, we were required to travel south for a distance before going east, then north.

Occasionally, I can see smoke rising in the distance during the day, or the orange glow of a burning community at night, signifying the ongoing conflict.

When we reach Twelve, we are even more roundabout in the way we travel. Apparently the whole district has been put under lockdown. From what I'm told, it's even worse in Three and Eleven; they are killing-off ten percent of the population in the largest city of each district. All things considered, Chaff and Beetee seem to be taking it relatively well. Chaff is used to the hardship and summary executions, and any anger he has, he seems to be storing inside to use later. Beetee… rationalizes it away in a "repercussions are inevitable in the short term, so the only thing that matters is what happens in the long term" kind of manner; definitely unnerving.

_I wonder how everybody in Twelve is doing._ I worry for all the people I know there: my friends, my family, Prim, Ms. Everdeen… even Gale.

A couple days into our trip, we settle down by a lake. For some reason, the area has a sense of familiarity to it.

"Why are we stopping?" I ask. For the longest time, it's been one non-stop voyage.

Chaff shrugs. "Apparently there're a couple passengers that we need to pick up."

It is not very long before the hovercraft takes off again. Several minutes, in walks one of the new passengers: the last person I wish to see.

"Hey, if it isn't the cousin…" From the way he delivers the last word, I suspect that Chaff doesn't believe that's the actual relation to Katniss.

I expected Gale to be angry. Besides the fact that it seems to be his default expression, he has every right to be angry with me; I'm here and Katniss is within Snow's clutches. However, there seems to be another set of emotions interplaying on his face: weariness, sorrow, and, for some inexplicable reason when he looks at me, pity.

"Gale, I—"

He holds up a hand. "Don't bother, Mellark. Can't say that I'm not upset with you for being here instead of Katniss, but it would be hypocritical of me to rip into you."

I'm now confused. "Why? What's—"

"I had one simple job: watch over Prim and Katniss' mom," Gale says as his voice briefly catches, "and I failed at that."

The knot in my stomach returns. "What happened?"

"I was out when the explosion occurred on the television and the Capitol cut the broadcast. By the time I ran back to the Victor's Village, they had a large set of Peacekeepers escorting the two to the train station. It was too risky for me to rescue them, so I backed off. For the looks of it, I think they are safe but…"

He breaks off and looks away. "As they locked the place down, I knew that they would be coming for me and my family next. So we escaped and went to the location Haymitch told us to wait at in case of an emergency. Fortunately, they cut the power right after the explosion, so we were able to make an opening in the fence. We barely made it out before they completely manned and fortified the borders. It— it was supposed to be all three of our families."

I put my face into my hands. It's as if every single fear of mine is coming true. Except…

_It was supposed to be all three of our families? Then where's—_

"Peeta?"

My thoughts are interrupted as I look over to see a pair of wide gray eyes peering over the side of my bed. In spite of myself, I can't help but smile at owner of them.

"Hey, Posy. How are you?"

A small giggle comes from her. "Good. Gale took us for a trip to the forest. And now we get to ride in the flying house."

"That sounds like fun."

"Peeta, why you look so sad?"

_Am I that obvious?_ "Just have a lot on my mind. That's all."

For being such a young girl, Posy doesn't look like she believes me. She proceeds to put a bundle of flowers on my bed. "Will these make you feel better? I picked them myself."

I pick the bundle up and look through it. Some of the flowers have already begun to wilt, but they are recognizable enough to jog my memory of the book I illustrated.

_Yellow stars upon scarlet tubes, __Spigelia __marilandica__; light purple petals around a spiny orange cone, __Echinacea purpurea__; spray of maroon stars, __Xanthorhiza simplicissima__; three petals of white per flower set in whorls… __Sagittaria latifolia__._

"They… they're beautiful… Thank you." Even though the lower half of her face is obscured by my bed, I can tell she's giving me a big smile at my words. The smile helps me maintain my composure.

"Posy, are you bothering the boy?" Hazelle stands in the doorway while cradling a bundle.

_Huh, I don't remember her ever being pregnant…_

I suddenly notice how pale Gale has gotten. Something's wrong.

Posy, of course, is oblivious to this. "No. Just giving Peeta the flowers I picked."

"I'm sure he likes them. Come along now. Your brother needs to talk about something important." As Hazelle ushers Posy out of the room, she gives Gale a very pointed look.

Before he can say anything, I ask, "Whose baby is that?"

Despite how uncomfortable he looks right now, Gale isn't one to mince words, "She's your brother's."

_No. Please no…_

"And why… do you have her?" The knot threatens to tear me apart from the inside out.

He takes a deep breath before saying, "After you were taken out, the Capitol had to show some sign of its might besides just sending in more Peacekeepers and closing the district off. Since you had symbolic value… they decided to strike back in their own symbolic manner. So they took your family and—"

This time, it's my turn to hold up a silencing hand. I need to see this for myself.

I look over Chaff and say in a measured manner, "Please tell them to bring me the footage. I know they recorded it."

* * *

I see my father, mother, Riley, Miche and his wife, Bethanee. They are at the gallows in the town square. Though the nooses are already at their necks, the platform at their feet hasn't dropped yet.

Dad's resigned, Mother's livid, Riley looks like he's about to break down, and Miche and Bethanee stand as close to each other as possible.

There is a call for any last words.

Dad's the one to speak. "Peeta, whatever happens, know that we love you."

"No. Not all of us," my mother cuts in. Dad simply squeezes his eyes shut and bows his head, while my brothers and sister-in-law look on in disbelief. Even some of the Peacekeepers look uncomfortable. Mother pays no heed and continues:

"I know that family bonds are supposed to be unbreakable. But you have gone too far for me to call you my son.

"You could have simply allowed Everdeen to win. Our district would have still been graced with the honor and goods of having a victor. But no; you just had to play the part of the pitiful romantic and proclaim your love for that Seam Rat. Now look at where it's gotten you. Look where it's gotten us all, you worthless creature. Because this is all your fault.

"This. Is. All. Your. Fau—"

* * *

The platform drops at exactly the same moment I shut off the television. It's just me, Gale, and Chaff who's in the room. None of us say anything for a while, until Gale decides to break the silence.

"Mom insisted that I check on the baby. So right after the execution, I went over to the bakery and saw that she was spared. So I grabbed her and ran. Don't worry: she will be taken care…"

I don't bother saying anything in response; I just nod at key points. I think Gale currently is trying to encourage me, but by now, all the words have become an incomprehensible drone. He finally takes notice of this and quietly leaves. Chaff does the same, even though this is his room as well; something registers that he's leaving to give me some peace.

So when the door shuts, I allow myself to curl into a ball while sobs wrack my body and my mother's last words repeat in an endless loop. The words continue into my dreams, but it's no longer my mother saying them: it's Katniss.


	3. Break

***The Capitol: One Day Ago***

There are so many ways one can use break a person: physical torture, verbal and emotional abuse, even the addition of certain chemicals. But sometimes, it can be just as simple as showing them the possibilities. In any case, different people have different weaknesses. The key is finding that weakness. For someone like me, that sort of task usually isn't hard to do.

I walk into the detention facility where most of the captured victors are kept. The only one not there is Enobaria Jones; she was not part of the conspiracy, so she was allowed to go back to Two. As well as the three cells containing the people taken from the Quell, one cell also contains Annie Cresta.

The cell walls are made of transparent material so that each inhabitant can see, as well as hear, each other; the setup is most helpful when they start screaming or when… interrogative activities occur in the cells themselves.

I finally stop at the cell containing the person I intend to talk to. Unlike Johanna Mason and Finnick Odair, who are in the cells flanking her's, Katniss Everdeen bears no injuries from her capture and captivity. In fact, I ordered that she get immediate medical attention after her capture. I even had her cell furnished slightly more comfortably than the others and included a privacy screen, though it is not out of a sense of altruism.

I clear my throat to get her attention.

"Well congratulations Miss Everdeen, you finally convinced me. It's a pity that you couldn't have done it sooner during the Victory Tour."

She is glaring at me with a mixture of unmitigated hatred and fear; there is even a little defiance there. I don't really care about the first emotion, and the second is something that is desirable. It's the last emotion that I plan on crushing shortly.

I have a seat brought up so I can sit outside her cell. As she is unshackled like the rest of the captives, I dare not risk being in the same room with her at this point; at least not until I tell her what's at stake. "Considering the circumstances, Katniss— Do you mind if I call you Katniss? Of course you do. Well I'm still going to call you that.

"Anyways, considering the circumstances, it would be best that we continue this agreement of complete honesty with each other."

As she walks up to the wall, Katniss responds, "Fine by me. So, in which case…"

What follows is a profanity-laced tirade she bangs her fists against the wall. I'm actually kind of impressed at her vocabulary range. Once she has thoroughly expended her energy and crumples to the ground, I decide to continue:

"If you are quite finished, I'll start with a confirmation of your conversations with Miss Mason and Mr. Odair after your capture. Yes, most of the districts are in rebellion. Yes, District Thirteen is inhabited and the head of the Rebellion. And yes, Peeta has been taken by the rebels and is probably nearing Thirteen right now. Also, judging from from their missing status, it is likely that the Hawthornes are joining him."

"Good." Her air of defiance seems to increasing. _Let's see how long that lasts._

"I thought you may see things that way, which is why I had to think hard of way to get you to cooperate. I could go on about how, without a strong hand, this nation will fling itself to pieces as the districts turn on each other. I could even show you our neighbor to the south as an example of such a real-life scenario. But I suspect you don't really care about that. In the end, you probably don't even really care about the Rebellion itself."

I have one of my assistants turn a projector on. "So I'm going to show you something that you do care about."

The projector shows Katniss' mother and sister in one of my guest bedrooms. They are being attended to by the same two redheaded Avoxes that I had service the District Twelve apartment during the Quell.

At the sight of that, any trace of that defiance is ground to a fine power and blown away, while fear takes precedence. Defeat also appears on the faces of the other detainees; they now know there will be no convincing her to defy me.

"Please don't hurt them," she whispers, an echo of that conversation we had over six months ago.

"Oh, I don't wish to. In fact, I'll allow them free movement within much of the Mansion grounds. They don't constitute a threat to me.

"Though, of course, it all depends on how you behave during your time here. Resist, and you can be sure they join the fate of your stylist." After the victors were captured, I had my staff display the body of Cinna outside the cells to showcase the price of defiance.

Before she can say anything, I continue: "However, harsh as I may be, I do reward obedience. You do what I ask, and I promise you that not only will no harm come to them, but both Peeta _and_ Mr. Hawthorne will be spared.

"Don't get me wrong, I can't guarantee that they will survive going into a warzone, but I will not personally order their deaths. And when the Capitol is victorious, I will let them live, in spite of any purpose they may play in the war. Besides, the last thing I need is another martyr."

She takes this all in and then looks to the inhabitants in the cells adjacent to her. "What about them?"

"Mr. Odair and Miss Mason were conspirators to the Rebellion's plans for you two. They have no claims to innocence and are to be punished. Thus, the tortures will not cease. Miss Cresta is here to further drive the punishment home. However…" I pause long enough to get everybody's attention.

"If you manage to toe the line, we can probably make room for certain… allowances down the road. And as she played no part in the recent events, I will also ensure that Miss Cresta remains physically unharmed for the duration of her captivity." I look over and see the last traces of conviction in Odair's face vanish to be replaced by a touch of pitiful hopefulness. Even Mason's internal fire has dimmed a bit.

I manage to suppress a slight chuckle as I dab away some excess blood. _This is almost too easy._

Katniss only hesitates momentarily before saying in a small voice, "Tell me what I need to do."

_Excellent!_ I suspect that had the positions been reversed between her and Mellark, I may have had to take more… aggressive measures.

"You will have an interview with Caesar Flickerman in a couple hours. I'll send down a team to get you ready; you may recognize the stylist. Afterwards, you will be escorted to the medical wing for an important procedure."

To her credit, she does not ask me to elaborate what the procedure is. The only thing she asks is simply, "Is there anything else?"

That earns a smile from me. "Tonight, you and your family will be having dinner with me. There is no reason we can't get to know each other better."


	4. Welcome to Thirteen

One could be forgiven in getting the impression that everybody wishes they didn't know me.

Ever since we picked the Hawthornes up, most people have now avoided speaking to me for the rest of the day. Actually, they have been straight-up avoiding me. Even Chaff transferred out of my room. Frankly, it's pretty annoying. It's as if some tragedy occurring to me would turn me into an unstable sack of angst that constantly needs his distance and would fall apart at the slightest provocation. Usually giving someone some time alone means giving them an hour or so, not almost half-a-day like it's been so far. Granted, I haven't exactly been reaching out for attention. In any case, the only company I have had for the rest of the trip has been Beetee and Posy.

Beetee has to interact with me anyways to get my leg working again. It got to the point that he simply moved in to take Chaff's spot as it made it easier for him to work on the spot. Another factor, in his ability to not be weirded-out in my presence, is simply that he doesn't seem have the same social philosophy others have. It reminds me of how he reacted to Wiress' death; it did clearly affect him, yet he didn't temporarily shut down like Finnick had after Mags. So naturally, he probably wouldn't think that tragic news would affect someone's approachability. I would normally consider that unnerving, but right now it's a nice break from the usual.

In Posy's case, she's simply too innocent to understand the full magnitude of what's going on around her and simply sees a "sad boy" who's in need of attention, despite the protestations of others. Though in any case, most of our "conversations" have been pretty one-sided, and her visits mostly consist of her doodling on the walls (I have a feeling that will piss off Plutarch, which means that it has my full support).

Anyways, I'm definitely thankful towards both of them for the company.

I overhear that we are currently over District Thirteen proper, which is in good time as Beetee had just gotten done working on the leg. The thing works… barely. Beetee's right in that I'll definitely be walking with a limp for a while, and he suggests that I get a cane or something in the meantime.

I take a look out the window to get my first glimpse of the district.

The place is a mess.

It's definitely not the smoking wasteland the Capitol's broadcasts repeatedly showcase, but even after over seventy years, it's still doesn't look like a pleasant spot to live. In the places that clearly were formerly towns and cities, I can see faint outlines of what used to roads and buildings sprawl against the landscape. By now, all the rubble has been overcome with vegetation. Shallow dimples denoting crater can be seen here and there. Considering the expanse of everything, it is clear that they couldn't have been able to bring everybody underground. How many were left outside when the bombs fell?

As I'm pacing (okay, more like limping) back and forth to get the hang of using the repaired leg, a knock on the door frame heralds a new visitor to the room. It's Haymitch. And by now, I'm already prepared to receive him.

"Well lookie here," I sneer. "The oath-breaking lush decides to show his face. Plutarch mentioned that alcohol wasn't allowed in Thirteen, so I take it that you were busy drowning yourself as a way of compensating. Well I'm sorry, but last I checked, there isn't a secret stash here or anything."

There is no reply, so I continue on with the insults, most of them dealing with his alcoholism. I know it is bad form, and again, I understand why everything happened the way it did. But damn if this doesn't feel cathartic.

Haymitch just stands there and takes it. And when I finally run out of things to say, he simply asks in a dry manner, "You finished yet?"

"… Yeah. Well, what do you want?"

"I just came to remind you that were getting close to our destination. It would be good to be prepped up. This is especially if you want to help Katni—"

"Don't do that," I snap.

"Do what?" He seems genuinely confused.

"Pretend that she is alive to buoy my hopes up or whatever. You don't know what happened to her. For all we know—"

I'm interrupted by Haymitch slamming me up against the wall. For drunkard who looks completely out of shape, he has a considerable amount of strength there that's belied by his paunchiness.

With his face only an inch away from mine, he growls, "Boy, for once, get your head out of that romance-laden ass of yours. I'm not putting forward the idea that she is alive out of hope. In fact, it'd probably be better if she was dead."

The last words sting, but he continues before I can retort. "Do you think that Snow wishes to have a martyr on his hands? It would be simple to kill her if she were some nobody. But no, she's the Mockingjay; everybody knows who she is and admires her, despite her less-than-stellar personality.

"It's one thing to have her dropped in the arena and killed that way. But executing her? That will only rile everybody up, including those in the Capitol. Snow probably wouldn't even risk making it look like an accident."

That gives me pause. "So what is he going to do with her?"

"Anything he can to discredit the Rebellion, even if he has to break her in the process. Torture, killing those she loves in front of her… anything. And trust me, when the Capitol breaks you, death will always be considered sweet mercy." My mind drifts back to Darius the Peacekeeper, now Darius the Avox, and any anger I have left is replaced with cold fear.

Haymitch notices this and backs up as his tone softens. "Of course, there's still time. Hell, there may still be time to help the other victors. So if you want to save the girl, you'd best play your part to help in bringing about a swift resolution to this conflict."

He stops briefly to take a look at the clock. "We're about to land in half-an-hour, so I suggest you get cleaned-up and dressed. I saved those from the apartment," he says while gesturing toward my suits. "As you're going to meet the leader of Thirteen, it'd probably be good for you to not look like an escapee from the loony bin.

"Also," he almost whispers to me, "remember this: just because you're out of the arena, or even the Capitol's direct reach, doesn't mean the Games are over. If anything, we're going into uncharted territory here. So I suggest you be even more careful of what you do and say. I'll help you along the way as the best I can, whether you like it or not."

Haymitch finally walks out to leave me alone to my thoughts. I decide to do what he says and get in a quick shower. After looking at the set of clothes available, I decide to take up the outfit that I wore during the Harvest Festival: white shirt, tan slacks, buff vest, and charcoal jacket. A modest affair that I remember being one of the more comfortable of the bunch; not that the others weren't comfortable.

_I wonder how Portia's doing…_

Those thoughts are shaken away as I proceed in dressing myself. The damn leg, of course, chooses to become uncooperative just as I'm putting the slacks on. After a couple minutes, and some choice words, I manage to get everything on without tearing any fabric. And just in time.

As the hovercraft descends, I can vaguely see squat rectangles, among the vegetation, hinting at the extensive development underground. A large door opens up in the ground, revealing a hanger in which the hovercraft lands.

By the time I walk over to the main door of the craft, I see that everybody else has already assembled to disembark. Haymitch motions for me to stand in the front and middle of the group, between him and Plutarch. Gale, of all people, offers to help me walk, but I politely decline.

Haymitch asks, "Are you ready?"

I shoot back, "Do I have a choice?"

"Nope."

As the door lowers, I can see that Thirteen has already rolled out the welcoming committee, which seems to mostly be soldiers standing at attention. Unlike the white-clad Peacekeepers through, the group here is all bedecked in gray. In the middle of the group, and facing us, are a man and woman in a more formal version of the gray attire.

The man has a name-tag that clearly reads as "Boggs". Despite looking to be in his mid-to-upper forties, Boggs is in excellent shape and about the same height as Chaff. His closely-cropped gray hair and steel blue eyes help to convey an intimidating look; the stiff posture just amplifies it further. However, he also somehow gives off a feeling of trustworthiness.

The woman to Boggs' left, and directly opposite from me, initially doesn't seem like much. She has to be in her fifties, with straight gray hair that falls to her shoulders without a single strand out of place. She has gray eyes but, unlike those of the Seam residents, hers lack any sort of color to them. One may think that would make them look lifeless and dull. Emotionless maybe, but definitely not dull. It is clear that behind those eyes is a cold calculating brain that picks apart everything it sees. They almost make me want to look away from her, but I suspect that that right now would be a bad time to show any sign of weakness.

She is the first to speak: "Soldier Mellark, I'm Alma Coin, president of District Thirteen. I want you to know what a privilege it is to have you here. I assure you that the Mockingjay's sacrifice will not be in vain."

_Soldier Mellark?_

Also, her referring to Katniss in such a manner almost causes me to release a colorful retort, but I hold it back. And it's not just due to professional decorum.

Besides my initial feelings, there is something about Coin that just doesn't seem right. It could be the haughty way at which she carries herself, despite the welcoming tone of voice she uses to address me. It could be the look of seeming unease, if ever so slight and masked by façade of professionalism, which Boggs has around her. It could be that all of that reminds me of something back home. Something familiar, even if it's wrapped in a cold package instead of a scalding one. Something that I thought I would be rid of ever since that horrible video yesterday.

Despite my feelings of all that has happened, Haymitch is right: I'm going into uncharted and possibly dangerous territory, and my ability to help everybody, including Katniss, depends on what I do next.

So I put on my best crowd smile and, as I hobble forward in front of everybody else with my hand extended for a shake, cheerfully respond to the greeting. "Hello, President Coin. It's great to finally meet you, and I'm glad to be here as a great asset to the Rebellion. Though if you don't mind, I may have some requests before we proceed…"


	5. Negotiations

_Well, there goes the warm welcoming._

At my implication that cooperation with Thirteen was to be conditional, Coin's face hardens even more than before. I simply keep the smile on my face and maintain eye contact, even though those colorless eyes are even more unnerving than Snow's reptilian ones. All the while, I'm steeling myself for the coming debate.

However, instead of arguing the point on the spot, she tersely instructs me to follow her.

"What about everybody else?" I ask, looking at the guys behind me. There's actually a ghost of an encouraging smile on Haymitch's face, which must mean that I'm doing something right… right?

"My men will instruct them to their appropriate quarters. In the meantime, if we are going to discuss things, we are going to do it in my office." There's a tone of finality Coin's statement that demands no further questions, so I decide not to push my luck.

Someone offers me a wheelchair, and I'm about to decline; however, I already seem to have struck a nerve with the president, so I doubt that the sight of me hobbling to keep up will be any more endearing in her eyes. Fortunately, the controls are easy to figure out and, in less than a minute, I'm following her and Boggs out of the hanger and into the rest of Thirteen

As we progress into the compound, I get a good look at Thirteen's seal, which is installed over the main doorway. In contrast to the Capitol's eagle, this consists of a hand superimposed over a cog, with thirteen teeth visible on said cog. Clutched tightly in the hand are thirteen blades, and below the symbol is a motto stating, "VIRTUS IN UNITATE".

_Cozy…_

To say that Thirteen is the polar opposite of the Capitol is a severe understatement. It's not just the obvious "flashy city vs extensive bunker" comparison that gives this impression. In contrast to the colorful Capitolites and the leisurely way they take life, everybody in Thirteen is clad in slate gray, has their hair cut practically, and moves around with a rapid sense of purpose. While the Capitol is a pinnacle of excess, it's clear that everything around here is designed and treated towards the intents of maximum efficiency. However, I'm not sure if this dynamic is much better than the Capitol; there seems to be something… soulless about it.

I'm also not sure how people are able to navigate this catacomb of a district, though I guess growing up here must make it second nature.

We get into an elevator, which not only goes down several levels but also travels horizontally for a period of time. After more hallway navigation, we finally reach the president's office. Boggs is ordered to stay outside while the Coin and I go in. Once she settles at her desk, Coin doesn't waste any time getting to the point, which is something I can actually admire.

"Soldier Mellark, do you know that you were my first priority for retrieval? While the Mockingjay's symbolic nature in catalyzing the Rebellion is something we owe a great debt towards, your oratorical skills are a much more useful asset."

There it is again: we're "assets". However, instead of belaboring the point, I decide to counter with, "President Coin, do you know that the reason as to why I was such a passionate speaker during the Games?"

When she doesn't respond, I continue. "I was solely to protect Katniss. It was to rally the Capitol to fall in love with her so she may live, even at the expense of my own life. Because without her, I have nothing to work for. Considering what happened to my family… well, let's just say I have nobody to speak for anymore."

That last part's a lie.

There are all the people I know in Twelve who may still be around: Delly, Madge… There are all the people in the Capitol who helped us and are now at Snow's mercy: Effie, Portia, Cinna, the prep teams, the Avoxes… There are the Hawthornes and the surviving victors, be they here or held captive. Despite the way I've treated him earlier, there is even Haymitch.

And there are all the suffering and restless people I saw in Eleven and many other districts.

But if this to work, Coin can't know that. Not until everything has been secured.

"You do not know whether Everdeen has been killed by the Capitol," she says. "Helping us would bring a faster end to this release, possibly resulting in her rescue in the end."

"Key word being 'possibly'. And I am sure that Katniss is alive right now. The problem is the Capitol views her as an asset as well. The more I speak, the more they will likely hurt her. And I can't in good conscience be party to such a thing without knowing there's a way out for her."

And here's where things can fall either way. Coin stares at me for a long time, and I lock onto the stare despite every rational internal voice screaming at me to turn away.

Finally, she sighs. "So what do you want?"

_Whew…_

"First and foremost: may I please have a pen and paper?"

When I given the items, I begin writing down the contract as I vocalize it out at the same time.

"Peeta Mellark agrees to devote himself to the cause of the Rebellion. In return for his devotion, there will be certain agreements made:

"Condition #1: Amnesty for Katniss Everdeen and her family."

I look up from the paper to elaborate, "It's obvious that she hates the Capitol, but she also has a strong sense of preservation for those close to her. Since her mother and sister were taken by the Capitol, it's obvious that they will be waved in front of her as a warning should she step out of line. So anything she may say is likely due to coercion, which most will recognize. And of course, whoever imprisons or kills the Mockingjay is unlikely to retain sympathy of the districts."

I hate talking about Katniss like this, but I suspect that things have to be laid out practically for Coin to accept them.

"Fine. Next?"

"Condition #2: Amnesty for the other victors captured by the Capitol: Finnick Odair, Johanna Mason, Enobaria Jones, and Annie Cresta." On the flight over, I was informed that the Capitol took Annie as well. Considering the incident with the Jabberjays, it's clear why she was taken.

"No. The Mockingjay has symbolic value to the Rebellion. The others have no such luxury."

I counter, "Remember that Finnick saved my life, and both of them helped to keep us safe. It's clear that Finnick and Johanna were part of the Rebellion, and the Capitol will treat them as such. Not to mention that it wasn't their fault they weren't picked up." I'm treading on thin ice with that last line, but nonetheless continue on. "Annie's isn't even mentally fit to be responsible for her actions. And in the end, the victors are heroes in their districts. Keeping them alive carries good morale value."

"And the District Two victor? Last I checked, she was an adversary to your alliance."

_Good question. Why did I include Enobaria there?_

"I included her out of a sense of fairness and mercy; in the end, she's just as much a victim of these games as the rest of us. Also, going with my previous mention about victors representing the districts: keeping her alive can be a positive gesture towards Two as well, and I suspect you'll need all the positive gestures you can take when dealing with the Career districts."

"… Fair enough. Next."

"Condition #3: Amnesty for those who assisted me and Katniss before the games: Effie Trinket, our stylists, prep teams, and the Avox servers."

This doesn't garner the vocal objection I expect, but Coin raises a perplexed eyebrow.

I explain, "Without them, we wouldn't have become the symbols we are today. I'll also have you know that one of the Avoxes directly stood up to the Capitol before his… procedure.

"Lastly, building on the previous terms, if the opportunity presents itself, there will be an attempt to rescue her and the others." Before she can object, I reiterate, "Again, if the opportunity presents itself. I understand the concern not to rush into anything rash."

That seems to placate her. "Is that all?"

"That should be it," I chirp cheerfully.

"Then I would like you to write this down as well, Soldier Mellark: 'These terms are only valid so as Peeta Mellark performs to the best of his capacity and shows his devotion. Any break from the mission, be it through words or actions, immediately nullifies the agreement. All named persons will fall under jurisdiction of District Thirteen law, including Peeta Mellark himself.'"

My blood runs cold at the implication, but I keep the cheerful tone. "Wouldn't expect anything less. I hope you don't mind if I request that you repeat this all publicly."

I finish writing everything down as Coin wastes no time repeating the terms into a microphone, which then carries the message to speakers located throughout the complex. _No turning back now._ After I place my signature, I give the paper for Coin to sign and then let her keep it as a "gesture of good faith".

After we shake on it, she finally dismisses me from her office.

"I want you to attend the first meeting to get an understanding of what's at stake. Commander Boggs will escort you to Command."

I follow Boggs out of the office and, once we finally round the corner, finally allow myself to relax my composure and release a big sigh of relief. Luckily, I'm still in the chair — otherwise I probably would have slumped against the wall — though my hands are slightly trembling from the ordeal.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Mellark."

Boggs speaking for the first time catches me completely off-guard, and I'm unsure whether to take his comment as a threat or sincere warning. Also, to be on the safe side, I should continue to treat any conversation I have as if it can be overheard.

"No more dangerous than the games I played beforehand," I remark breezily.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that. Coin doesn't take challenges to her authority lightly."

"I don't wish to challenge anybody except Snow. I just want to make sure all my friends get out of this alive."

"I know. You should still be careful."

_Why is he telling me this?_

I decide to trust the guy and take his statements as warning.

We finally enter into the command center where I'm mobbed by a bunch of people. While they do welcome me, I can see that many of the District Thirteen officials seem to be slightly displeased. They probably didn't expect my devotion to the cause to be conditional. _Well, tough break._

I wheel myself next to Haymitch, who definitely does not seem to be taking the lack of booze well. Just a couple hours after landing, and his complexion already has a sickly pallor to it.

He takes a sidelong glance at me. "I hear you strong-armed Coin into agreeing to terms before you agreed to work for the Rebellion. Clever move."

"I like to think of it as negotiations, but thanks anyways. Where's everybody else?"

"Chaff and the Hawthornes are getting settled into their rooms. Beetee was almost immediately taken to the weaponry department. And, as you can see, Plutarch's here at the command center."

An awkward period of silence passes between us before I mumble, "Look, Haymitch: I'm sorry about the things I said earlier. I don't know what came over me."

"Sure you do; you're angry with me. If you weren't, I would have seriously pegged you to be a complete asshole who doesn't care about anybody or a psychopath. Either way, it wouldn't reflect too favorably upon you. Nobody's that sincerely forgiving." I look up at him, and he has a mixture of amusement and sadness on his face.

"Still, I'm sorry about that."

"Yeah yeah, apology accepted.

"In any case, I'm actually impressed that you used your speaking skills for something other than pleasing the crowds. That part about what I do with the empty bottles when I'm alone…"

"Yeah, I seriously don't know how I thought that up." I shudder. "Come to think of it, I really don't want to know either."

Not sure if it's my last statement that's the trigger or if it's something else, but out of nowhere, both of us just begin chuckling, which soon turns into full-blown laughter; likely it's at how screwed-up our whole dynamic is. Everybody else looking on with a mixture of confusion and concern, but neither of us care.

The laughter is cut short by the Capitol broadcast. Caesar Flickerman is going through his usual flashy introductions before welcoming a special guest to his show.

It's Katniss.

I have been worried about how they have been treating Katniss, but she doesn't look like she has been physically abused during her captivity. Actually, she looks far healthier than she was during the Quell. It's clear that the medical professionals fixed her up after she was captured. Of course, there is a look of nervousness on her face, but that's a given.

Caesar gives her a hug and allows her to get comfortable before continuing with the show. "Katniss, good to see you alive and well. While I'm normally not allowed to take sides, I just want to tell you how much I was rooting for you. Though I wish the circumstances were better, with what's happening in the districts and all."

I doubt he's just referring to the fighting in the districts when he talking about "better circumstances".

Katniss just gives him a sad smile, "Thanks, though as you probably guess from the footage, my hope was that Peeta would be the one sitting in this chair."

"Yeah, I saw that. Both of you willing to sacrifice yourselves for the other…" Caesar sighs and puts his hand over his heart as he milks the sentimentality for all its worth. "Could you possibly give us a recap of your experience?"

While she has never been a good speaker, Katniss is nonetheless able to handle walking everyone through the Quell, while corresponding footage would play. The unfamiliar landscape, the alliance, all the traps, finding out that the arena is a clock, the relaxing time before the plan to electrocute the lake, and so on.

I have to admit that there is something surreal about seeing myself after I ran into the force field, though I guess that the footage of me being revived after our first games means that it isn't exactly the first time I have died on television. Also Katniss doesn't say anything, but simply blushes, when our kiss on the beach is shown; I myself feel heat rising to my face.

In the spots where she would hesitate, Caesar would helpfully fill in the spaces. Despite working for the Capitol, it's clear that he is trying to make her be as comfortable as possible, or at least look good, which I can appreciate. After she finishes talking about the dual between Enobaria and Johanna, and Finnick's attempted intervention, Caesar chimes in, "Though you probably didn't expect the rebels to do their little break-in of the arena."

The footage plays of the force field blowing up, with Chaff and I being knocked down by the blast. The hovercraft comes out, and picks our unconscious bodies up, while Beetee gets on the ladder that drops down.

"No I didn't. Otherwise I would have never agreed to split up the group."

"Do you think that Peeta knew?"

With a growl she orders Caesar to replay the video again. This time it includes me screaming for her before the explosion.

"Does he look like he was in on any of the plans? If he was, I seriously doubt he would be standing so close to the explosion. Both of us were deceived."

"What about your mentor?"

"Again, Haymitch never allowed us in on his plans."

"Well, at least you got out with your child."

She fidgets with the throw pillow in her lap. "About that… Caesar, there's something important I need to say."

"Oh _fuck,_" I turn towards the source of the expletive to see that any remaining color has drained from Haymitch's face. Before I can ask what's wrong, Katniss finishes:

"There is no baby."

_Oh fuck…_

"In fact, we were never married. All that was something Peeta crafted."

Caesar looks shocked. I can't tell whether he's just playing along or honestly thought our whole ruse was truth. "Why would he do something like that?"

"Why do you think? To play the audience and spite the Capitol."

"So the love was false?"

"I never said that," she retorts. "Why would Peeta go out of his way to protect me during both Games if he didn't care for me?"

"What about you?"

Katniss seems to mull that question over for eternity while looking at her feet. "I don't know what to think anymore."

After offering some comforting pats on Katniss' shoulder, Caesar asks, "What about your cousin Gale Hawthorne?"

That jerks her out of her reverie and she scowls. "He's not actually my cousin, if that's what you're asking."

"What would you say your relationship to him is?"

"We're friends. Been so for several years already. I don't see how this is relevant."

"Oh it's just that some footage was brought to our attention…"

It's the video of her kissing Gale in the woods. I remember her telling me about it back in Eleven, but that doesn't lessen the sting of actually seeing it. I want to bolt out of the room but instead put my face in my hands. _Is this what Gale felt when he had to watch us kissing in during Games?_

I look up to see that Katniss herself looks disturbed by the revelation of the video yet quickly brings herself under control. "At the time between the Games and Victory Tour, Peeta and I had a… strained relationship when he found out that our romance may have been a bit more one-sided than he thought.

"Still after that Gale and I remained friends. Nothing more, nothing less." Her tone and glare implies there is nothing more to discuss on that matter.

"I believe you." To his credit, Caesar sounds sincere. "On another subject, is it okay if I ask your opinion on the war? How do you feel about the rebels using you as a symbol?"

"I never asked to be a symbol. Also, if you don't mind, I'd like to tell you a short story."

"Go ahead, my dear."

"Thanks. A little while after the Victory Tour, I was out hunting—"

"Isn't hunting illegal?"

"Yes, but I did what I had to do to help my family." Caesar nods in acknowledgement, if not approval, of this. "While I no longer had to do it after being a victor, by now it has become force-of-habit.

"Anyways, I ended up running into two people fleeing from District Eight. I don't know what became of them, but what I do know is where their planned destination was:

"Thirteen."

"But District Thirteen is destroyed," Caesar muses.

"That's what I thought as well, until I checked-up onto a little hint the two runaways gave me. Whenever you see a broadcast of the district, it is shown as a smoking wasteland. However, in the corner of the image, there is a always the same mockingjay that flits by, which hints at the footage being reused. Why have the need to reuse the footage when the area is supposedly destroyed?"

"Why indeed…"

"In any case, my suspicions have been confirmed when I was informed that Peeta was taken with the others to Thirteen, which, it turns out, is very much alive. Turns out that it made a deal with the Capitol, to play dead and go underground, in return for not supporting the Rebellion during the Dark Days. It wouldn't be destroyed or have to participate in the Hunger Games, and the Capitol now lost a major enemy."

Caesar let's out a little theatrical gasp of surprise. Katniss simply shrugs at that.

"Believe me, I was just as surprised as you were. In any case, there's no point in keeping that a secret; they'll likely show their faces soon enough.

"Here's what I wondered though: if Thirteen was thriving all this time, why didn't it help the districts all during the time of the Hunger Games? Why wait until the country is about ready to tear itself apart to step in?

"That's when it hit me. There are only two possibilities available. Either Thirteen isn't as strong as idealists make it out to be…

"Or it is an opportunist, waiting until everything looks to be in its favor before stepping in to push the dagger into the Capitol's back. In the end, either option sounds pretty unreliable to me."

She looks straight at the camera. Her voice carries a tone of anger to it. "Is this the kind of ally you rebels want: one that abandoned all the districts when it was expedient and watched the Hunger Games without having to participate? Who's to say they won't abandon you again when the going gets tough?

"And Peeta, if you're hearing this, I'd suggest watching your back. This is what my gut tells me about Thirteen: once a backstabber, always a backstabber."

Caesar thanks her for her time and wraps up the show with a call for a return to the "regularly-scheduled programming".

As the closing jingle plays, Haymitch lets off a string of curses, and I don't blame him. I myself am busy rubbing my temples, trying to sort out the conflicting feelings. I'm definitely glad to see that she is not only alive but looking very healthy. However, the dark mutterings coming from the District Thirteen officials fill me with concern.

It's a good thing I made that pact with Coin when I did, because, otherwise, I doubt she would bother even sparing Katniss after this, let alone attempt a rescue venture.

Katniss is a terrible liar; everybody who knows her knows that. However, everything she is said is true, and it shows in the direct manner of speech, which is further bolstered by all that legitimate frustration bottled up inside her. The video of her and Gale kissing didn't hurt.

Her truths are exposing every well-crafted lie that Haymitch and I helped her with, and many people aren't going to take being lied to very well. More importantly, she is succeeding in portraying Thirteen as the powerful entity that hung everybody else out to dry until it was tactically expedient to get involved; hell, even I believe that. She may have not told the rebels to lay down their arms, but she pretty much implied that the fight is hopeless.

We haven't even begun, and the Capitol's first move is already putting us in check.


	6. Dinner

***The Capitol: One Day Ago***

_I'd like to see the silver-tongued liar talk his way out of that one. _

The interview went beyond my wildest expectations, especially with that revelation at the end. No amount of scripted speech or elaborate lies could top the truths that Katniss spoke earlier this afternoon.

Of course, the video is not going to be aired immediately. I will probably wait until tomorrow, when it is projected that the fugitives will reach District Thirteen. Mellark will most likely be drafted to spout his rhetoric against us, and he always seemed more enthusiastic than Katniss. So it is best to hit him before he can get comfortable, but leave just enough room for him to begin recovering from the execution he undoubtedly saw.

The key is pacing.

In any case, I have more important business to attend to: hosting the Everdeens for dinner. Unsurprisingly, things are currently… awkward.

Katniss is focusing on nothing in particular. Primrose is looking at me with unmitigated hatred, especially whenever the male redheaded Avox comes around, though she wisely keeps her mouth shut. And their mother is keeping quiet for the duration while looking at both her daughters with concern.

Though all three are not displeased with their situation enough to avoid eating whatever is in front of them. This is something I can appreciate about district residents; they know to never let good food go to waste. The gorging and voluntary purging practiced here… disgusting habit.

So far, all we have been partaking in is shallow and terse small talk. So I think it best to have a conversation starter.

"It looks like you enjoyed the entrée. I'll have you know that this beef didn't come from District Ten, but was actually imported straight from Yamato."

Their perplexed expressions require me to elaborate. "It's a small island nation, across the ocean, which Panem has an economic relationship with. We indirectly trade with them for goods."

"Indirectly?" Primrose asks, her previous anger seeming to be forgotten.

"Well, there is another island nation, near District Four, that serves as a trade middleman for the sake of security. Of course, with the troubles occurring in Four, foreign imports have been put on hold."

"I have always gotten the impression that the rest of the world was destroyed."

"Well, that's a preposterous notion. If the Great Cataclysm was bad enough to wipe out all of humanity, do you seriously think that the inhabitants of North America would survive as well?"

After a moment's thought, both of the girls shake their heads. Though it causes Katniss to question, "Then why are we taught that we're the only ones around?"

"Why do you think?"

This time, Primrose answers almost immediately, "To keep us inside. If people knew that the area outside of Panem also had people, many would try fleeing."

"Exactly."

"Then why tell us all of this? Aren't you worried we might spread the information around?"

I stop eating my floating island to look levelly at Katniss. "I'm not worried because I know that you don't want any additional attention from me upon you and your family. Besides," I say as I key in some commands into the consol built into the table, "there are other factors that will dissuade most people from fleeing Panem, besides the obvious issue of distance for the majority of nations around the world."

The projector in the middle of the table brings up scenes of a picturesque coastline. Rocky shores, lush coniferous forests… and an array of gun emplacements facing out to the sea. Accompanying that is a series of patrol vessels, each one brimming with weaponry.

"This is from the nation of Haida Gwaii, the middleman I was mentioning previously. It is a very prosperous nation, and it stays that way because it limits access. Any unauthorized vessel that enters within 10 miles of the shore will find itself fired upon with extreme prejudice. What their gun emplacements don't get, their naval patrols will.

"Same goes for our other middleman to the southeast of District Eleven, the Confederated States of the Caribbean."

This time, it's a tropical setting, with azure water and sandy beaches. But the defenses are more or less the same.

"Going north, east, or west will lead you to into the wilderness. And assuming you can get past the landmines and desert of the Southern Wilderness, this is what you can look forward to:"

The last footage is in the middle of a city. Or at least, what used to be a city; the term "warzone" would be more accurate. Explosions and gunfire can be heard intermittently. The specific scene is focusing on a group of men, women, and children are lined up against a wall to be gunned down by a firing squad.

To say that the Everdeens are horrified would be an understatement.

"This was taken just last week in our southern neighbor, the Mesoamerican Empire. In this case, it is a group calling itself the Free Nahua Army. They are currently doing some 'housecleaning' against certain undesirables. It is either like this, if not simply crippling poverty or sickness, throughout the 'Empire'. The only thing the inhabitants in Mesoamerica hate more than each other is Panem. Though, from what I hear, they do enjoy watching the Hunger Games, probably out of a bout of _Schadenfreude _in seeing the children of Panem kill each other.

"In any case, Mesoamerica is what we get to look forward to if this rebellion succeeds. If not this, then it will be a tyranny of a different sort."

"You can't know that for sure," Primrose mutters darkly.

"Yes, yes. There is always the possibility of going back to the free republic system of our forbearer, the UAF and its forbearers, the USA and Canada. But ask yourselves truthfully, how likely do you see that happening? How much do the districts trust each other to prop up a fair and balanced system?"

I take advantage of the looks of uncertainty upon their faces to switch tracks a bit.

"I have to congratulate you Katniss on your interview. I will admit that I had no small amount of trepidation when you mentioned District Thirteen so prematurely, but when you followed up as such, I find quite worth it. I'll also have you know that your assessment of the district is quite accurate."

She narrows her eyes in suspicion, "I know we promised not to lie to each other, but are you sure that you aren't just saying this because Thirteen is your enemy?"

"I'm quite sure because, until just a couple years ago, the Capitol and Thirteen had contact with each other, mostly as a formality. And from what I have seen, the government there is every bit as autocratic as this one is, though in a different way. I am confident that any celebration at my demise will be short-lived if Thirteen is the one holding the reins of power in the end."

Surprisingly this seems to be getting through to Katniss. At the very least, she is mulling the issue over in her head. However, it makes sense when I think about it. I know that she doesn't trust me, but she usually recognizes the pragmatic path whenever it clearly appears to her. And in the end, her goal is always to have those close to her live in a secure setting. If she has to make dealings with people she detests, so be it.

"Well, it looks like everybody is finished with dessert." I look over to Primrose and Ms. Everdeen. "Now if you excuse us, Katniss and I need to discuss business. Your Avox—"

"His name is Darius," Primrose snaps, which earns wide looks of fear from Katniss, her mother, and the Avox.

I just chuckle. In a controlled setting such as this, such youthful exuberance is actually quite entertaining. It looks like the Katniss' "innocent" little sister has some claws and venom stowed away.

"Darius then," I say, nodding. "He will escort you and your mother to your quarters. Goodnight now."

After they leave, Katniss turns to me in a panic, and with a look of fear still etched onto her face, but raise my hand up before she can say anything.

"Don't worry. So long as your sister does not cause such outburst in public, she has nothing to fear. Though it would be wise for her to practice restraint now so that such a scenario doesn't happen in the future."

This seems to calm her down. "So what do you want to talk to me about?"

"Like I said before, your interview was exemplary. I think we can make some allowances now."

"Let the others go then."

That earns another chuckle and a shake of the head from me. "Now let's not be so hasty. It has just been the first day, and you have not proved _that_ much yet for me to release criminals of the state."

She scowls. "Then what then?"

"Well, since you can't decide on anything that is absolutely ridiculous, how about I decided the reward?

"First, if you so choose, you can spend your time here in the mansion with your family. You won't have free reign like them, but will still be in their company.

"Secondly, your mother and sisters are healers, am I correct?" When Katniss nods, I continue. "I will give them a chance to work at the main hospital. I will even ensure that the media is kept away from them in the process. How do those concessions sound?"

"I think Prim will enjoy that. I think I have one more request, if it doesn't sound unreasonable."

"Ask away. I will be the judge of whether it is reasonable or not."

"I would like to go back to Twelve to pick up some things. Prim's cat is one of them. I personally hate the thing, but it will help keep Prim happy and content."

I think that over. There is a significant risk of her leaving her controlled confines. However…

"I see no issue with that, though it will probably won't be for several days, if not a couple weeks. There will also be an armed escort."

She only hesitates a bit before saying, "Fine."

"Also, there will be a camera crew going along with you."


	7. No More Lies

"We're gonna need to get you in front of a camera soon. Work your magic as damage control."

"How the hell am I going to be able to control _that_, Haymitch? Katniss just revealed to everybody just how much of a liar I am. Do you seriously expect people to believe what I say?"

"Well, you are the one who's good with words."

"Well then, I guess that makes things all easy. What do you want me to do: go up there and state, 'Oh she's just a bit addled; disregard anything the Mockingjay said and listen to her obsessive, lying sort-of-but-not-really-boyfriend-slash-husband that lies'?"

"Wow. When you put it that way, you really don't come off as such a pleasant person."

"I'M AWARE OF THAT!"

My outburst draws further ire among the officials in Command. Most of them were already displeased with me. But after that interview half-an-hour ago, in which she flat out lambasted Thirteen, they're now looking at me with this collective and contemptuous expression that seethes, _"And you demand that we spare that traitorous bitch…"_

I want to yell at them that their opinion is not warranted. That they shouldn't be treating us like a bunch of assets and nothing more. That maybe Katniss is right about them being just a bunch of opportunistic buzzards. But that will probably give Coin an excuse to dissolve my terms or worse. While at this point I don't care what happens to me, I don't want anybody else hurt due to piss-poor decisions on my part.

So it's best to focus on the task at hand: finding some way of countering the things Katniss said. Something which currently seems about as easy as walking up to Snow and kindly asking him to simply discontinue the Games and treat the districts fairly.

"So tell me Haymitch, do you seriously expect me to challenge her? Because I'm sure that will go over real well."

Haymitch groans and slams his forehead to the table, while muttering obscenities about being stuck with "such damn difficult victors" and his need for a stiff drink. This seems to continue on for the next couple minutes, in which time his muttering fades into silence. He stays silent and still like that, with his head remaining on the table, for such duration of time that I grow concerned that he passed-out or something.

Suddenly, he looks up with a surprisingly clear expression on his face. "No. I don't expect you to challenge her. In fact, I fully expect you to agree with her."

"… What." _I… what._

"What?" Plutarch decides to join us, with Fulvia Cardew, his plump and floral-printed assistant, in tow.

"You all heard me. Peeta's right in that attempting to refute Katniss has no guarantee of people believing him. If anything, it could backfire and increase distrust among the districts against all of us.

"That is why the boy should take what Katniss said and turn it into something sympathetic. Explain why they had to create the lies they did. Hell, even if what he said were lies, there was that kernel of truth in there that resonated with the district residents.

"So no more lies. The time for that is over."

Sometimes, I think Haymich should be the one talking. "That's… a brilliant idea!"

"Yes yes, brilliant… However, Katniss' take on Thirteen will have to be addressed," Plutarch adds, with his voice lowered. "She really portrayed them in a negative manner, and I suspect that many in the districts are going to catch on to that. How is Peeta going to spin that to be positive?"

Haymitch opens and closes his mouth with an expression of frustration. "I… dammit. Boy, you're on your own for that one. Hell, _I_ already don't like this place," he whispers. "The best I can say is that the rebellion is going to need all the help it can get, and that Thirteen has the resources to provide that help."

_Great._

I let out a long puff of air before turning to Plutarch. "If we do an interview now, how long do you think until we're able to broadcast it?"

"We don't know yet. Beetee is currently working on a way to break into the communications' feeds so that we are able to send it to all the districts, plus the Capitol, the same way that the Capitol sends out its broadcasts. So it could be from a couple days to several weeks before we can send anything out.

"Why? Are you saying that you're ready for a propo?" Even though Plutarch's query is phrased in a straightforward manner, I see that he's practically giddy with delight.

It makes me want to strangle him.

I push down that urge. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. Record my response right now so that once Beetee's ready, we can get it up as soon as possible."

Plutarch jumps up and claps his hands together. "Excellent news, then! I'll inform Coin, and Fulvia here can get you prepped-up—"

"No."

He stops his little internal celebration to look owlishly at me, "What do you mean no? I thought you said you were ready to get on camera."

"I did, and I do want you to inform Coin. However, I don't want to be prepped for this interview. Later on, you can prep, groom, and dress me up all you want. But not now."

"Peeta, no offense, but you don't look like you are in the best condition to be shown to the public."

I haven't checked a mirror lately, not even when I cleaned myself up before arriving here. But considering how I feel, and how much sleep I've had lately, I probably do look like hell.

"But the point of this is to give a spontaneous response to Katniss' interview and regain the districts' trust. I have to look like I just found out about the news, not like I have been preparing a response for however long it takes to release the footage."

Haymitch chimes in. "True. If anything, the more ragged he looks, the better; play on audience sympathy. Besides, you should have seen him before he got washed. Boy made Annie look like a paragon of keeping oneself together."

That earns a grimace from me._ Thanks, Haymitch…_

Fulvia looks like she's about to vomit at my desire to keep the way I'm looking, but fortunately, Plutarch looks thoughtful, especially after the "play on audience sympathy" bit.

Finally, he simply shrugs. "Just as well. We have yet to get your outfit, or your title for that matter, ready. In which case, Fulvia will direct you to the studio, where the crew will be waiting for you. Cressida will take care of you from there."

_Outfit? Title? Never mind, I'll ask about that later._

Despite her displeasure at the turn of events, Fulvia beckons me to follow her. For once, I'm thankful to have the wheelchair because she is walking at the briskest pace possible. Several floors later, and an indeterminate distance of hallway, we finally arrive at our destination.

I can tell that the group that awaits me is definitely from the Capitol, though from what I've seen so far, they look perfectly modest. The one women there is shaven bald and has intertwine vines tattooed onto her scalp. She's talking to a lanky guy who's covered in piercings, while two identically-burly-and-red-bearded guys are off to the side by the cameras.

Upon seeing me, the woman approaches me to shake my hand. I myself hobble outside of the wheelchair to receive her handshake.

"Hi! It's great to meet you, Peeta. I'm Cressida," she says in a voice that thankfully lacks the annoying lilt that I've come to associate with residents of the Capitol. "My assistant here is Messalla, and these are my two cameramen, Castor and Pollux." The other three wave good-naturedly at me. Seem like decent enough folk.

"It's good to meet you all as well. Though," I nod towards the cameramen, "no offense, but how should I tell you two apart? Since we are working together, I'd like to get to know everybody better."

One of them approaches me. "No offense taken. I'm Castor, and, as you may guess, Pollux is my brother. As for telling us apart, he's the Avox."

"Oh." And now I suddenly feel very uneasy. "I—I'm sorry."

Pollux shrugs in a "no big deal" kind of manner and then makes some signs to Castor, who just sighs. "Pollux wanted me to add that another way to tell us apart is that he's not the one who bites his fingernails to the nub."

That comment, and ensuing laughter from everybody else, fortunately diffuses any hint of awkwardness that may have formed. I definitely think I can get along with these people.

Cressida takes the opportunity to guide me to a stage where a chair and a couch are set up. I'm seated on the sofa, while she settles into the chair. It is nowhere near the luxuriousness of Caesar's set-up, but comfortable enough. The one big difference from the Game interviews is that there is no large crowd to play to; instead, the footage will be directed straight to Command, where the higher-ups will view it. While there is the upshot of not having a bunch of Capitol residents spew their vapid histrionics, I still find that an audience is useful in that it helps me gauge my own performance via their reactions.

Plutarch apparently informed the crew, while I was en route, as to what type of footage would be recorded. So they managed to somewhat prepare ahead of time, which I suspect didn't take much considering that this is supposed to be a straightforward interview. Though I wonder as to what questions Cressida will bring up.

We're informed that it will be a while until everybody will be ready in Command, so, in the meantime, Cressida and I engage in small-talk to get to know each other better. She half-jokes that since I was the one who has been on television all this time, and that I'm about to go through another interview, it'd be best that I be interviewer as we wait. So, for the most part, things are basically idle chit-chat: what schooling she had (journalism from University of Panem), what the vines mean (she likes gardening), whether they stop past the neck (no), how easy it is to get lost in Thirteen (very), and so on. That is, until I ask her how she got involved with the Rebellion.

It turns out that Cressida was, and still is, the adventurous type. So while many of her classmates wanted to be anchors or talk show hosts, she wanted to be a field reporter. At first, there was no "noble" reason for it; she just wanted to travel around and see different things from the Capitol. However, the more she traveled, the more she was unable ignore the conditions around her, especially when going to places like Six, Eight, and Eleven. Though, if anything, probably the final nail in the coffin was meeting Castor and finding about Pollux, especially the process at which a person is Avoxed.

I, perhaps naively, ask what that process is. I wish I hadn't.

As to how Cressida and her crew ended up in Thirteen: it turns out that being a high-ranking reporter meant being able to get a peek into the more clandestine aspects of Panem. One of them was the fact that any reporting done from "Thirteen" was actually done in a studio where the simply add in the same stock footage of the smoking rubble. So she put the pieces together and figured out that the district wasn't as dead as it should be. Wisely, she kept her mouth shut about Thirteen or her feelings about Panem, which allowed her to climb the ranks, gain resources, and appoint the people she wanted. When she got the group of people that she trusted, the decision was made to head out. Fortunately, it turns out that Messalla, who was just her intern at the time, was an outdoor survival enthusiast, which helped them in their trek from Six to Thirteen.

"So here I am," she says, gesturing to our surroundings.

"Huh."

"What? You seemed puzzled about something."

"I just notice that you never mentioned the Hunger Games in your reasons for leaving the Capitol."

A thoughtful look crosses her face. "I didn't care for them, if that's what you're asking. But, I wouldn't exactly say that they were exactly a primary, or even secondary, concern of mine. Not to diminish your experiences, which is something I myself can't comprehend, after seeing some of the things I have seen in the districts, the Hunger Games actually appear quite mild."

"I know about the brutality in Eleven. But what else have you seen, if it's not too much trouble to explain?"

"It's not. But are you sure you want to know?"

"I think I need to know if I'm going take this responsibility."

"Okay then." She takes a deep breath. "In Eight, I saw a seven-year-old girl scavenging under some heavy machinery."

"'Scavenging'?"

"It's where they remove any stray piece of cotton or other raw material that the machinery may have missed so that nothing is wasted. Due to the limited space, they require the smallest person to do the task, which is why very young children are drafted.

"Anyways, the girl was not vigilant enough and her hair got caught in the whirling parts of the machine. She was completely scalped."

"Did she survive?"

"I don't know. I just remember the screams.

"In Six, I saw the strong preying on the weak, as well as the trafficking of various goods, some of them human; all the while as corrupt Peacekeepers looked the other way. In Three, I saw the callous indifference of residents as the dead, or those too weak to resist, were eaten by mutts to keep the streets clean.

"And in certain places, I saw how many kids who wouldn't object if they were sent to the Hunger Games because it meant that they got to eat a full meal. They usually would actually plan on going to the bloodbath as dying there was usually preferable to trying to keep surviving, wherever they were.

"That is just skimming the surface of many things in that I have witnessed in the districts; of course, I had to keep my mouth shut or my job would be the least of my concerns. It made it all the more worse when I would return back to the Capitol and see many people who I considered my friends, many of whom always talked about helping out the districts, gorging themselves on excess." She ends on a bitter note.

Just skimming the surface? This is worse than I thought. And they seriously expect some seventeen-year-old to motivate a nation that looks like it is more likely to collapse in on itself? What am I getting myself into?

Cressida seems to sense my anxiety, because she squeezes my shoulder. "Don't worry. While, you may not like to hear it, and I wish it weren't true, after a while it becomes easier to deal with. We'll do our best to help you in any way we can."

I give her a small smile of appreciation before we are told that everybody who needs to be in Command is there.

"Okay, you ready for this, Peeta?"

"Might as well get it over with." This earns an approving chuckle from Cressida.

Since the idea is to create an answer to Kantiss' rhetoric, we decide to go along the same format of Caesar's interview, yet in a different manner. So after the basic introductions, we go to the subject of the games.

"It's clear that you really cared for Katniss out there."

"Was it that obvious?" I sheepishly grin.

"If not before, I think that night on the beach was a pretty strong confirmation for everybody."

I feel the heat rising to my face. "Well, passion of the moment and all that," I say dismissively. The guys working to the side snicker a bit, which causes my face to heat up even more. I really hope they edit that out, though I doubt that will happen.

"In any case, as you probably suspected, my goal once in the arena was to help keep her alive." I look straight into the camera and sigh, "Yeah yeah, Katniss, and it usually ended up with you taking care of me.

"Anyways, that goal served as a tether. Because once you are in the arena, it becomes something that threatens to be your only reality; be it the terrain, your base needs, or the other tributes after you. The arena threatens to consume you."

"As in the risk of you being killed?"

"Actually, I sometimes feel that the ones who died are the lucky ones."

"For what reason?"

"When you kill someone, even if it's the most necessary thing in the world, you feel a part of yourself slipping away. It even happens when you aren't doing the killing but are personally watching it unfold before you. If you're not careful, you risk losing everything you are, and a person who has lost everything they are… it is as if they weren't a person in the first place. Besides the basic life signs, the only sign you may see of their former humanity are the internal screams that occasionally peak out from their eyes.

"So the only thing you can really do is latch onto a goal to keep from going mad. To serve as that lifeline to the world outside, even if in the end you aren't even planning to go back to that world. For most people, that goal is understandably to stay alive. For me, well, you already know what my goal was. Because if Katniss were to die, I would be nothing. And, like I said before, what life is worth living when there is no meaning attached to it?"

"What about Haymitch, your mentor?"

"He should have not been as secretive as he was. I know that his plan was to hold both of our promise, to motive us to protect each other. But if we had at least a good hint about what was going to happen, we probably wouldn't have separated. I wouldn't have let her out of my sight, and she would probably be here with me."

I allow my voice to crack and the tears to fall, but, at the same time, have to restrain myself so that it doesn't devolve into full-on sobbing.

I have forgiven Haymitch already, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let him off so easily. And as bad as it sounds, this will hopefully redirect some of that anger away from Katniss over to him, who's used to being hated. I also hope that Coin doesn't catch it, but I refrain from saying anything that hints at Katniss hating the Capitol; she needs to stay sympathetic there if she is to survive.

Cressida gives me some time to compose myself before she continues on.

"If it is not too upsetting, was what Katniss said about the marriage being a lie true?"

"I'm afraid so. I will flat-out and say that I've for a long time wanted to marry Katniss. But not like this. However, that's what we had to do."

"What do you mean that you had to marry?"

"Snow personally threatened Katniss with the lives of those she held dear if she did not play-up the 'Star-Crossed Lovers' theme. He wanted the marriage to serve as a way to distract the districts. So, did what we could so that everybody else was safe. Naturally, it didn't work very well."

"That would likely be an understatement. Where does the 'baby' fit in?"

"Like she said, I wanted to rile people up. Thing is, I wouldn't exactly call what I said a lie."

"Oh?"

"I mean, Katniss isn't pregnant. However, how many potential babies out there are snuffed out whenever a kid dies in the Games? More importantly, how many expecting parents look fearfully at the developing life and wonder, 'Will this child grow up only do die prematurely in some bloodbath of some sick game? A game that is supposed to punish us for something we weren't even alive for? A game for the sick enjoyment of a populace that can look at its own expectant mothers and just see another crop of happy children, while our children starve?'

"When I said, 'If it wasn't for the baby', I wasn't just speaking for me and Katniss, I was speaking for Panem."

"And I'm sure the districts got that message. On that subject, what are your thoughts on the war? On Katniss being the Mockingjay."

"Like Katniss said, she never asked to be a symbol. However, she just has no clue the effect she can have on people. Even I don't really understand it."

"How about her words about District Thirteen?"

Okay this is where I definitely can't afford to screw up. I'm pretty sure Coin is paying close attention to me right now.

"I can't give any impression about that since I just got here, though my reception so far has been nothing but positive."

I know we said no more lies, but I can't seriously say that my first couple hours here consisted of mean looks and Coin threatening unpleasantness should I step out of line.

"The districts probably have realized this already, but I still think it is worth saying: There won't be any second chances after this fight. Even for those who willingly surrender, the Capitol will show you no mercy. And as the Quarter Quells prove, there can always be worse things brought out than the Hunger Games."

I decide to look straight into the camera once more, this time to address all the districts. "I don't look forward to war. If you probably have guessed from my Games, I hate any aspect of killing. However, we're currently past the point of no return.

"So whether you care for Thirteen or not is irrelevant. What is relevant is that Thirteen has resources for a war. And in a fight like this, you're going to need all the resources you can get your hands on if we want to end this now and end it quickly.

"Besides, I myself am a firm believer in second chances. Thirteen may have withdrew during the First Rebellion, but they are now pitching in for the fight, knowing full well that if this war is lost, the Capitol will not be so willing to parlay. I say that we should allow them to prove themselves. Because, we all know who _has_ been given a ton of chances to be kind towards the districts and squandered it.

"Remember, who is the one who sends Peacekeepers to your doorsteps to inflict various forms of brutality upon you and your neighbors? Who is the one who lets you starve, while his citizens gorge and purge themselves in a display of excess? Who is the one who keeps you from moving around and works you without fair recompense? Who is the one who hosts the Hunger Games and has the blood of a multitude of children on his hands?"

I then allow all that pent-up frustration and anger to carry me on through to the finish.

"Remember, who is the real enemy out there?"

After that, silence seems to grip the set for eternity. As my internal fire ebbs away, I fear that I completely screwed this up.

Finally Cressida says, "Cut!"

I collapse into my chair and look plaintively at her. "Alright, how bad was it?"

She looks positively incredulous when I ask that. "Bad?"

The next thing I hear is Coin's authoritative voice over the intercom. She sounds completely and utterly… pleased?

"Soldier Mellark, it appears my faith in your abilities was well-founded. Congratulations, you're officially our voice for the Rebellion."


	8. Research

After the crew gives me and time for me to collect my wits, I head back to Command as Coin tells me that she wants be up there to review the footage. When I finally get there, I can see that all that ill-will has dissipated when those same higher-ups mob me to give congratulatory pats on the back while Coin looks on approvingly. Plutarch looks positively ecstatic, and even Fulvia has a grudging look of acceptance on her face.

The only person who isn't going wild is Haymitch. All he does, after everybody else has settled down, is come over and silently squeezes my shoulder. An understanding passes between us, and for the first time in quite a while, I feel thankful for his presence.

When the footage plays, I try not to recoil in disgust.

Even after the interview, I did not have time to look at a mirror. But after seeing this, now I can understand why Plutarch wanted to pretty me up, even though I still stand by my previous stance of staying unaltered.

My hair is frayed and laying limply. Dark shadows frame my sunken eyes. The marks on my face from the poison fog have not completely faded away yet. And even though we had those meals in the arena, it's still clear that I lost a considerable amount of weight. The only thing I have going for me, physically, is that I managed to have gotten a slight tan from being out there.

This is either going to succeed in gaining audience sympathy… Or I'm going to give every little kid in Panem nightmares. Or both.

After we get done watching, there is an ovation and Plutarch talks about how, "after some adjustments, of course", this should help rally the people. Personally, I just care about whether this takes the attention off Katniss.

~oOo~

So now just comes the wait as Beetee figures out a way to hack the Capitol.

Once the good feelings over my interview pass, everybody goes back to working. Haymitch and Plutarch mostly stay in Command to focus on the strategic meetings. While I don't attend them all, I have a general idea of how things are going considering how increasingly surly he is when I come across him. Or it could just be the lack of booze talking.

Chaff is handling the no-alcohol rule just about as well as Haymitch. That is, not well at all. In fact, most people try to avoid him the best they can as he tends to be on the warpath a good chunk of the time. We decide that it be best that he put most of his efforts into more training. Fortunately, he doesn't object and ends up excelling in it, even when missing a hand.

Gale is also getting into military training. Actually, he's launching into it with a single-minded focus that is borderline frightening. Though this is tempered somewhat at the sight of him uncomfortable in his crew cut and strictly-regulated uniform.

In contrast, Hazelle is helping out at the kitchen, with Rory looking after the rest of the kids when she's not there.

That leaves me. The funny thing is that I'm not allowed any combat training. Not that I'm complaining, but Coin seems insistent that I be an orator, not a fighter. _Ah well, might as well focus on what I'm best at._

So I spend all my time preparing to be this "Voice of the Rebellion." A lot of it involves practicing in front of a camera with Cressida and her crew.

I also end up dedicating most of my time researching about Panem; because if I am going rally the districts, I'm going to need to know my audience. Fortunately it turns out that Thirteen has a sizable library I can work out of. After a while, they even have the scheduler even puts down _Research_ as a legitimate activity. I proceed to have them spill it into my regular _Reflection_ time.

"Seriously boy, how much sleep are you getting doing all of this?"

"How much sleep do you think I usually get?" I look at Haymitch pointedly, an unspoken implication traveling between victors.

"Okay, okay. Fair point. Just be careful. You're little use to anybody if you turn into some burnt-out husk."

Plutarch actually decides to help me with the research. Despite my general distrust towards him, he does prove himself to be very informative, which is something I'm thankful for. Part of it is due to him being an insider in the higher echelons of the Capitol, and another part is due to his knowledge and fascination about history and geography.

"Since I had no restrictions put on me," he explains to me over a stack of books, "my idea of fun was to take frequent trips to the Capitol Archives. It's actually amazing how many people are able to look at our history but choose not to exercise that privilege. Probably one of the reasons the Capitol is the way it is.

"Anyway, besides looking at various resources, it was common for me to get into discussions and debates with the head archivist. Decent fellow, though a bit aloof and prickly; he's also quite aware of the Rebellion and was aware of my part in it for some time."

"Huh. What's he doing to help?" I ask. It always interests me to hear about higher-ups in the Capitol who aren't in league with Snow.

"Nothing at all."

"Really? I mean, considering that you aren't dead must mean that he's not in league with Snow."

"Oh, Suetonius isn't on Snow's side either. When I say that he's doing nothing, that's exactly what I am saying. He has the information; he just is deciding not to do anything with it except store it for the sake of knowledge. While he has no love for Snow, he doesn't trust revolutionaries at all either. And he considers himself indispensable enough that he should survive any government that comes into being. If he no longer has that luxury, he knows how to go into hiding."

I really don't know what to think about that. I mean, it's good that he's not ratting out the Rebellion. But to know what's going on and willfully turning ones back on it out of self-preservation sound callous. Then, again, considering what we were trying to do during the Victory Tour, I don't think I have any room to throw stones.

With the material given, I find out a wealth of information about Panem and the districts that isn't usually taught, especially stuff that concerns their industries.

Some is pretty trivial information and makes sense in hindsight. Six focuses on heavy manufacturing and steel, not just transportation. Nine is where we get dairy products. Three doesn't just do electronics but focuses on research and development in general, including genetic work for Nine, Ten, and Eleven.

Some is a bit more relevant to the current situation, such as Eight's fabrication of Peacekeeper uniforms, Two's manufacturing of weaponry, and Three's designs of said weaponry.

And then some information leaves me completely flabbergasted.

Starting with the fact that there are actually other nations out there, though way less than before the Great Cataclysm, which runs contrary to everything I was taught. And they trade with the Capitol, through Four and Eleven. Of course, that's on hiatus considering both districts are currently rebelling.

"Why don't we ask these countries to help us?" I ask while looking at current map of the world.

Plutarch snorts. "In all seriousness, what do we have to offer? Most countries out there already have a tenuous relationship with Panem. They aren't going to risk their trade deals to unilaterally support a rebellion that may or may not succeed."

"Well, we would have a better chance at succeeding if we had help."

"But it does not mean that victory is ensured. Not to mention that our two friendly neighbors already have in place a policy of strict neutrality, while our southern neighbor believes that the only good Panemian is a dead Panemian.

"I wouldn't fret too much though. Those countries that already have a working relationship with Panem will not object to a regime change, which should help us during the rebuilding process."

Somehow, I find that of very little solace right now.

Moving on from that tidbit, I then find out that most Peacekeepers aren't from the Capitol, but actually are from Two. In retrospect, that makes plenty of sense; the Capitolites don't exactly seem the types to don a uniform, and most of them who do are there because of issues with debt. In contrast, Two already has the Career system in place. It makes sense that they would extend that mentality to include service into the Peacekeeper Corps.

In fact, the defense headquarters for Panem are built right into one of the mountains, right across the square from their Justice Building.

"To think that I just thought it to be a very fancy mine…" I muse.

"With a statue like that?" Plutarch is probably referring to the massive statue at the mountainside depicting a man and woman holding aloft a sword.

"I just thought it to commemorate the victors from the Games."

"Well it is, and the Youth Academy is located in the facility as well, plus a legitimate granite mine. However, it's also to showcase Two's martial and honor-based spirit in general."

I think to Clove and Cato. "Honorable" isn't exactly a word I would use to define them. Yet they were obsessed with bringing honor to their district. Ironic, isn't it?

In any case, Plutarch notes that the facility is probably the number two priority besides the Capitol itself. It doesn't help that Two is the only district that isn't actually rebelling, even when both One and Four have joined the rebellion. They are that tied to the Capitol.

Plutarch looks at me gravely. "And I doubt that anything you say will sway them."

I remember the looks the people gave me during the Victory Tour. The hatred emanating from the parents. I completely deceived the Careers, something which I doubt they consider very honorable as well, and to top it off, I showed Katniss where to shoot Cato before knocking him off the Cornucopia. "I guess not. I still wish there was another way besides just fighting our way through."

"All of us do. Not least because that mountain is going to be one very tough nut to crack."

The last important secret concerns the Capitol Labs. They aren't in the Capitol. They're in Three.

"Well to be fair," Plutarch clarifies, "there is a branch in the Capitol that is specifically focused on applying the technology for the Hunger Games. But other than that, everything is located in Central."

Central is both the site of Three's Justice Building and the headquarters for the labs. The funny thing is that I visited the place and didn't find anything that odd.

"That's because the Capitol hides that fact whenever they do broadcasts from there, such as during reapings or Victory Tours. Can't have people get any ideas about there being autonomous entities in the nation. Have you ever wondered why there were a lot more banners with the Capitol seal on them than in other districts that you visited during your Victory Tour?"

I shake my head as that has never occurred to me. I just assumed that it was to quell the restlessness among the populace.

Plutarch brings out a picture. "Well. This is what it looks like without the banners."

In it, I can see that every single building is emblazoned with a symbol that is distinct from the Capitol's eagle and even more bizarre than Thirteen's hand. It's some sort of winged, stylized creature spread out in the same way as the eagle, but that's where the similarities end. The head is of some horned beast, and instead of legs, the body tapers into a tail which ends in a draconic head. Its human-like left arm points up to hold aloft a fiery torch, while the right one, which is more like my prosthesis, points down with a drawing compass in its hand. Even the wings are mismatched; one is plainly bird-like and the other is rigid like on a hoverplane.

"It's called a Chimera," says Plutarch. "In this case, it's part feline, part ram, part bird, part serpent, and also part machine."

"What does it represent?"

"Mastery over sky, water, and land. Mastery over the synthetic and organic. The power and ingenuity to create something new. On a less esoteric note, it represents their main vocation: technology and muttations.

"Anyways, besides covering those designs up, the Capitol goes so far as to bring in people from the rest of Three to serve as the crowd for Victory Tours, which explains why the ones you saw were quite restless. Restlessness is something you will never see from a Central resident; the Rebellion is just not their problem."

Plutarch goes on to explain that, despite Three's firm anti-Capitol stance, Central is currently taking a somewhat neutral stance in this war. They refuse to join the rebels for one; they will join when, and only when, it is clear that the new government is set up. The thing is, the rebels aren't going to push them about it. Part of it is out of fear of damaging valuable assets which may be useful later on. The other part is due to how well-defended it is.

The place is surrounded, for at least a hundred miles in all directions, by very hilly terrain and dense forest. In that forest is an array of various traps and obstacles, which would make a ground assault costly. And any air assault would be repelled by anti-aircraft emplacements around it.

Pretty much the only way to capture the place would be to destroy it, which would defeat the whole purpose. That is even not getting into the subject of the soldiers there.

"Oh yes, I forgot to mention: those Peacekeepers you saw during the Tour were also temporary imports from the rest of Three. The actual 'Peacekeepers' there are an… unorthodox bunch."

"In what way?"

"First off, let's just say that if you ever see one you'll be able to distinguish them from your run-of-the-mill Peacekeeper. Not to mention that the lot tends to be a bit… eccentric. They also receive an additional layer of special training, which, besides imparting survival and combat skills, serves as a way eliminate Two's honor philosophy."

"They don't believe in honor?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it that way. They value things like strength, intelligence, adaptability, camaraderie, and loyalty. Also, hospitality is a big thing there. However, for them, obsessing over retaining or bringing honor is something that is quaint at best and self-destructive at worst. Anybody who fails to shed that ideology is drummed-out. In any case, probably the most important distinction about them is that their job is to actually protect the people in Central, not enforce Capitol doctrine."

"Okay that's… very different." Even with the decent ones like Darius, the reason the Peacekeepers were there was so that we stayed in line.

"Well, it comes with the territory. Besides the stuff being built, the scientists and engineers there are valuable assets, hence the need for protection. It is also hard having quality R&D when there is a bunch of thugs constantly looking over your shoulder. That is why the security force there actually refers to themselves as the Guardian Corps, not Peacekeepers. The whole thing was the brainchild of Commander Porus, who's still in charge there. I believe you met her on the Tour."

If he's talking about whom I think he's talking about, then yeah I have. And I don't wish to again.

"The first thing she said to me was, 'I hope you two don't decide to cause the same mess you caused in Eleven, otherwise you will wish you had died in the arena.'"

That causes Plutarch to chuckle. "Yeah, that's Porus for you. She hates it whenever they bring in the crowds and imported Peacekeepers. The last Tour was especially worrisome for her considering that crowd was ready to explode. Not a good set-up when your community has such valuable stuff in it.

"In any case, in turn for us not messing with them, Central is refusing to send any of their troops confront us or any rebel force. They will even not attack us if we manage to secure the transport line, which travels right past the place, so long as we don't attempt to enter there."

I narrow my eyes at that. "Not that I'm complaining, but that seems awfully generous of them."

"Well, even though they're still recruited from Two, the Guardians aren't loyal to the Capitol or even Panem. They are loyal to Central, and by extension, Porus. And she doesn't want to risk Central's prosperity, or lives of her troops, over a 'hissy fit between peasants and aristocrats'."

_Strange way of referring to the Rebellion._ "Why does Snow tolerate them then? Everything I know about him shows that he doesn't tolerate anything less than unwavering loyalty or at least fear."

"It goes back to Central's indispensability and the fact they keep it safe. As long as they don't cause any trouble and keep out of sight, Snow is willing to look the other way. Of course, if Snow does manage to stay in power, I'd imagine that he may reconsider how much autonomy from them he will tolerate."

"There is still the issue of them supplying equipment and mutts to the Capitol. And from what it look like here, Central serves as a depot for hovercraft and Peacekeepers to stop at on their way east."

Plutarch simply shrugs at that. "The best we can do try to block their supply lines. Since it's not involving their own personnel, they won't object to us stopping shipments."

I mull over something that was said earlier. "What did you mean when you said that the Guardians are eccentric?"

"Well, I would probably apply that to most of the populace there, soldier and scientist alike. I can't explain it clearly, but if by some inexplicable reason you are there, you'll notice it. The only thing I can say is that it probably comes with what usually goes on over there.

"But this is all irrelevant considering that there is no way one can get Central on our side, be it through persuasion or force. As far as this war is concerned, that place is a non-entity to be ignored and avoided."

"There isn't even a way to persuade them on pragmatic grounds?"

"Believe me: before the war started, we tried various arguments when we knew that Porus wouldn't rat us out. She told us that if we pressed the issue, she'd have us walk back to the Capitol on foot." He shudders at that. "If you manage to find a way to convince her, go for it. But I'm not holding my breath."

As productive as having them as an ally would be, the thought of having to confront that woman washes away any ideas I may have had.

Anyways, if there is one district that I do not have a good amount of information on, it is Thirteen. The only thing I know is that its official vocation was graphite, the unofficial one was nuclear research, and that it made a deal with the Capitol to be spared. Other than that, I'm at a loss, and Coin says it's not important for me to know anything as they aren't the ones needing persuading. Which does nothing to allay my suspicions about the place.

I take the time to attempt, and fail at, organizing the mass of books I have before chuckling to myself over some inane thought.

"So the Capitol forces are based in Two, the Capitol labs are mostly in Three, and Capitol lands just refer to uninhabited parts of the various districts. Is there anything that actually part of the Capitol?"

"Well there is the Capitol proper. That stretch of land, which surrounds the city, serves as a buffer and is where we construct all of the arenas. Also, when you think about it, all of Panem technically belongs to the Capitol."

"And we're trying to change that."

"Exactly."

~oOo~

It's been almost a month in when another Capitol propo is broadcasted. This time, it's from Twelve.

The town looks almost unrecognizable. Peacekeepers are everywhere, and I can even see walls and various buildings being built in the background, with district residents, Merchant and Seam alike, providing the labor for construction.

From what I hear from the rest of Command, the Capitol is turning Twelve into a regional command post of its own, undoubtedly to prepare for a push towards Thirteen. Unfortunately, the defenses are high and the populace unprepared for conflict to come there. Though there is word of an underground movement forming amongst the residents and even some disaffected Peacekeepers; likely from the remaining old guard who managed to keep a low profile. In fact, it is from this movement that we have the information that we have.

We are all watching the video when _she_ appears.

This time there is no interview, just footage of Katniss going into her house and picking up some stuff. When she walks out, I see that she has her old hunting jacket and is carrying a couple bags with her. One of the bags seems to be swaying angrily, and I fight to stifle a laugh as I realize what's in it.

After handing the bags over to a Peacekeeper, she decides to walk around Twelve, with the cameras following her. Though she will occasionally point out a sight or two, the camera is mostly ignored. Fortunately, she pointedly avoids the bakery; I don't think I can bear seeing that yet.

Along the way, she stops to talk to various people just to see how they are. While they are not pleased with the situation, they are fortunately not looking at her with the same amount of betrayal Thirteen views her with. They understand that she's doing this to survive.

There is really only one time she actually looks straight into the camera. It's to address me.

"Peeta, if you are watching this, I hope you don't mind if I borrow something of yours."

She then proceeds to go into my house and comes out with one of my paintings; however, with its back to the camera, I can't see which one it is.

Finally they leave and the propo ends.

Some are questioning as to exactly what purpose there was behind that propo, but I understand perfectly.

And with that understanding, I know exactly what I must do. Because interviews only go so far.

I need to get out into the field.


	9. Vox Libertas

"You know, I have always considered you the sane victor. Absurdly love-obsessed sure, but sane. After what you've just suggested though, I've realized that I may have set the bar a bit too low."

I scowl at Haymitch. "I don't see what the issue with my idea is."

"Oh let's see. How about the fact that, oh I dunno, you will be killed out there? If this was Katniss, I may probably have been open to it, as getting out into the fight's her forte. You on the other hand…

"You were useless as it is in the arena — don't try to deny it — even when both of your legs worked. Now, you might as well use those painting skills of yours to put a bull's-eye on your shirt while you scream out to the Peacekeepers 'HEY, FREE TARGET PRACTICE!'" He jumps up and down while waving his hands around for emphasis.

My scowl deepens to Katniss-levels of disapproval.

I don't see what Haymitch's problem is. Once we got to Thirteen, their technicians actually managed to fix the leg most of the way. Granted it would seize up or give out occasionally, but most of the time I'm able to walk, and even run at full speed, easily again. Beetee even said I was lucky as in some cases, when advanced prosthetics like mine malfunction, they have been known to send a feedback up the nerve connections and into the body; I didn't ask for him to elaborate on the detail of those incidents.

Also while I may not be a fighter, I do know how to survive. At the very least, I know when there is danger and how to get out of its way. And this time, I'll be surrounded by those who I know are friendly faces.

Coin decides to chime in. "Despite his penchant for hyperbole, I'm inclined to agree with Soldier Abernathy. You are too valuable of an asset to risk in a warzone, and it's a drain of resources to risk soldiers just so for the sake of your voyeurism."

"It's not voyeurism." I address no one in particular. "Do you know why Snow filmed Katniss going to Twelve?"

"Well, they needed to show an obedient district. Show that the Capitol can be gracious as it is unforgiving," Plutarch says.

"Yes, but they could have done that without Katniss. So why include her?"

Haymitch sighs. "Because they needed a face."

"Exactly. A face to accompany a message is usually more comforting than just plain narrated footage. And a face mingling unafraid, and genuinely affable, amongst the populace is a face people tend to trust more than a face always seen in the confines of a studio. Hell, this may be the only time she does this, but it's enough to leave an impression.

"If I am to be a credible face to the Rebellion, I can't solely give speeches from the comfort of Thirteen. Doing so would give the impression that I'm cowardly which, in the end, erodes away my legitimacy. And from there, said eroded legitimacy reflects badly on Thirteen.

"Besides," I say, focusing on Coin, "think of it this way: if I'm successful at this, you'll have a propo that will blow my previous one out of the water. If I get killed… you'll have a martyr that will spur the people on."

Plutarch seems unsure, Haymtich's understandably pissed about the last suggestion, but Coin looks thoughtful. I'm not sure if it's a good thing or not that she got the impression only when I mentioned the win-win scenario; however, if the results are positive, I'll take what I can get.

Finally, she says, "Let me think this over, and I'll let you know in due time. Meanwhile, you should get cleaned-up. Whether the next propo is here or in the field, I'd rather our main performer not look like a walking corpse."

Plutarch beckons me to follow him, and as we leave, I hear Haymitch yelling at her not to let me go out there.

"You are quite the master of persuasion," Plutarch muses as we're walking down the halls.

"I just want to get this done as soon as possible."

"As do we all. By the way, I was supposed to show this to you earlier, but I never got the time." He pulls out a tablet and hands it to me.

In it are several costume designs. It is only when I get to my first chariot outfit, and the suit that I wore during my first interview with Ceasar, that I realize that this is Portia's personal design book. There is even the secret behind the synthetic flame here; she always did seem to be the more tech-oriented of the two stylists.

Plutarch instructs me to select a specific page, which brings up a new design.

As I'm looking it over, I ask, "So what is this?"

"This is your Rebellion costume."

Truth be told, I expected something a bit more dramatic, like armor… or me being on fire again. This outfit looks like a simple hybrid between a coat and a robe: black, with straight lines, long sleeves, and a hem that goes past the knees.

"As can be seen she decided to make the design that has some connection in both your skill and your district."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's modeled after a preacher's outfit, circa about 350-400 BP. Preachers were some of the great orators in Appalachia at that time."

"Huh…" I really didn't know much about the time before Panem — actually didn't know much about Panem's history till recently — except that the nation used to be called the United States of America, later the United American Federation, Twelve was a region known as Appalachia, and the Great Cataclysm killed a lot of people.

In any case, Portia seems to have done her research. Sure enough, next to the sketches, there is an old photo of who I assume is preacher for reference; he has a nice hat.

"Is this all?" There is no disappointment or the sort in my tone, just puzzlement. After all the outfits I have been through, it seems strange that the most important one of all was a single article of clothing – albeit a very long and well-made one – not an entire ensemble.

"She wanted to allow you some flexibility, so you can wear anything you like underneath. Of course, black pants and shoes are supposed to compliment it the best. And she designed some to the side." I signal for a new page, which shows me a set of pants and boots. They are thankfully designed more for comfort and utility than for style, though they aren't lacking in that department either.

"When this is all being made?"

"Actually, they are just putting on the finishing touches."

_So Portia…_ "Portia was part of the Rebellion…"

"As was Cinna. Both of them had special outfits planned for each of you two."

In hindsight, it makes sense considering the outfits made for us during the Quell, especially Katniss' wedding/mockingjay dress. "Do you where they are now?"

"Last I heard, she is currently Katniss' stylist. Your former prep team is also in charge of taking care of her."

That catches me off guard. "What about Cinna?"

Plutarch, for once, looks solemn. "Cinna's dead."

He explains how Cinna was beaten and tortured to death, starting right before Katniss went up the launch tube during the Quell. Which explains why she was so shaken when I saw her during the countdown.

"Do you know about her prep team?" I ask shakily. They were vapid and shallow ditzes that bought into the Capitol's decadence but, like my own trio, really can't be faulted too much for their attitudes. They were merely a symptom of the greater problem that's the Capitol.

"How about you ask them yourself," Plutarch says wryly.

~o~

As I'm being remade to "Beauty Base Zero", I'm also busy trying to comfort the prep team. As I'm doing this, I find myself liking and trusting Thirteen even less than before.

I think Plutarch meant to surprise me with some friendly faces. What we got instead was the sight of Venia, Octavia, and Flavius chained, bruised, and sitting in their own waste. All apparently just because they hoarded some food. From the appalled look on Plutarch's face, he definitely was not kept in the loop of their condition, and his subsequent threats towards the guard to release them gained my respect considerably.

Fortunately, Venia seems the least affected of the trio and is helping me keep them from completely breaking down. Also their constant concern over my current physical condition, as well as inquiries as to Katniss is doing, serve as a successful distraction. After they are done, I tell them to come to me, Plutarch, or any one of the other victors if they have any more problems.

"I'd suggest sticking around the Hawthornes while you stay here."

"Okay. Though Katniss' cousin seems angry all the time," Octavia whispers.

_I guess they didn't see the interview. _I decide not to correct them right now. "Yeah, Gale's a bit of a firebrand. But the rest of them shouldn't be too much problem. I bet his little sister Posy will let you three play with her hair."

That seems to brighten up their day a bit. After they hug me — very awkward while I'm currently stark naked — and leave, I get dressed and finally check a mirror.

While I still look somewhat strained, they managed to have erased the dark circles from my eyes, trim my hair and restore its curl, and overall get my complexion polished up. I suspect that I'll start looking like a mess again after a couple weeks, but they might as well fix me up now. I also regained much of my weight back due to the consistent intake of food — a very loose term in describing what they serve — plus some regular exercises on the side.

When I get out of the Remake Center, I see Plutarch is still waiting outside on me.

"I want to thank you for getting them out of there. I know we don't see eye-to-eye on many things, but that meant a lot."

He waves me off airily. "It's nothing. Nobody should be treated like that for something so trivial. Not in the Capitol. Not in Thirteen."

There is a note of finality to his statement that suggests talking here about Thirteen is not the wisest course of action. So I change subjects

"By the way, besides the outfit, you mentioned earlier that I was supposed to have some sort of title."

That earns a grin on his face. "Ah yes. I think you will find out about that later today."

_Aand there's the Plutarch I love to hate._ "So you just assigned some sort of alias without my input?"

"I think you'll find that the best titles have never been self-assigned. After today, we'll see if it sticks.

"Oh, and before you go on your merry way, Beetee wants to speak with you in Special Weapons."

~o~

As usual, I find him in the hummingbird house. When he's not working on something, he's being completely enthralled by those small creatures. Something about wanting to replicate their flight movements.

As I walk in, he beams at me. "Peeta! Just the guy I want to see. Looking better by the way."

"Thanks. I just got the tribute treatment. Anyways, Plutarch said you wanted to speak with me?"

"I do indeed. I have wonderful news!"

"Really? I could definitely use something positive."

"Well, I finally got through to the Capitol's communication system."

So that's what Plutarch meant. That propo's probably going to air anytime now.

"That's great! How'd you do it?"

Just as Beetee launches into his explanation, a particularly-feisty hummingbird decides to hover right in my face and stay there chirping away aggressively while flashing his red throat; even when I move my head, he moves with me. Ah, just as well considering that I'll probably not understand a thing that he says.

Though that hummingbird is looking increasingly testy, and I'm desperately trying not to get my eyes crossed.

" Uh… Beetee? Is it possible for us to have a change of scenery?"

He stops his talk – something about using the proper code – and finally notices the little guy trying to get into a staring contest with me.

"Hey, you made a friend! I've been desperately trying to get them to stand still so I can make some proper observations. So can you stand still for a moment?"

A "moment" turns out to several minutes while Beetee takes several recordings, measurements, notes, and who-knows-what while my "friend" seems more agitated by the minute. He also seems to be gathering some company. My mind briefly wanders to Haymitch's games, with those pink fluffy birds…

"Alright! Done. Walk with me."

As I move to depart the place, the birds finally scatter, including my friend from the beginning. Though one of the females decides to take a gift for herself before heading off in her own direction. That gift happens to a couple strands of my hair.

"Agh!"

Beetee just chuckles at that. "Apparently your hair is perfect building material."

"Wonderful. Was there anything you wanted to tell me?"

"Actually, I had something made for you."

That almost stops me in my tracks. "You did?"

"Yeah, something I thought it would be useful. And just as well since Plutarch mentioned that you were interested in getting out into the field."

We go past the secure doors and into the armory. While I stand there gawking — probably in the most idiotic of fashions — at all of the assorted weapons set up, Beetee retrieves a long thin box.

"Here," he says while handing me the box, "I give you the honor of opening your gift."

When I open it, I see a single gleaming cane. It's nothing fancy, but, from the way the metal's been burnished to the accents on the handle, it's clear that it's made to appear in public.

Beetee's looking on with cheerful apprehension. "Go on, test it out. I contact your current doctors to get an estimate of how long it should be. I hope it works well."

I walk around with it and find that it does indeed fit me well. Granted with my leg fixed, I don't have too much use for it, but it will probably get me by during those periods where the leg gives out.

"Thanks, Beetee." And I mean it. "This is a wonderful gift."

"Don't thank me yet. I want to test some things out first. Please be on your guard."

I have barely enough time to register what Beetee just said before he comes swinging down at my head with a metal bar. I instinctively hold the cane out to block against the bar, which is stopped in its tracks, with a negligible feeling of shock down my arms.

Mental shock on the other hand…

"WHAT THE HELL BEETEE?"

"Just testing for constitution. And the subject has not fallen apart."

_Fallen apart?_ "What do you mean by that?"

"Look closely at the shaft. What do you see?"

Taking a closer look at the cane, I can see what he's talking about. Midway down, there is a barely-noticeable seam dividing the shaft into two main sections.

"As can be seen, the connection is strong enough to withstand a melee attack. However, should you choose to split the cane, it should come apart quite easily. Observe:

"'Cane, split.'"

And just like that, the cane snaps cleanly in half in my hands. Beetee shows me that this is so I can either have a shorter melee weapon if needed, or that I can duel-wield, though most caution against in general.

He proceeds to show me that the bottom half can shoot out poisonous flechettes with the command: "Cane, shoot."; the top half can shoot out electrified wire with a: "Cane, lighting"; and so on. Not to mention the more mundane features, such the weighted handle having a strategic sharp point to it.

"While we know you would go out in a peaceful role, still pretty much the idea is for you not to be defenseless out there, just in case of course. And we know that your strong suit is melee combat. So we had something that is both functional and protective. Of course, most of these command-issued weapons — which, by the way, we need to get recognized to you at some point — are one-use and thus a last resort."

Although I don't know what to think about carrying a mini armory around with me, Beetee did put a lot of work into it. And the cane itself is useful; I just hope I don't have to use any of its components.

"Again, thanks Beetee. I — do you hear something?"

His face lights up. "Must be finally broadcasting your interview. Good to know my hack was successful."

"I just want to know if they added anything," I mumble as we walk towards the nearest television.

It's clear that the interview is winding down as I'm addressing the districts about trusting Thirteen.

And they also have indeed added something. Because just as I'm done ranting about who the enemy is, bold letters flash in front of my paused face: "SO SAYS THE VOX!"

So… apparently I'm called the _Vox_.

Meh, I've been called worse.

~oOo~

A couple days pass.

I'm reading up on the Dark Days — Twelve actually had quite a bit of power back then, as well as a lot of blood on its hands — when Haymitch barges into the library.

"Alright, you want your chance out there? There apparently seems to have been a reprieve in the recent bombardment of Eight. Command attributes it to the Capitol wanting to consolidate forces in Twelve while they continue building up the fortifications. I personally think that they are taking a breath to prepare for another shot.

"But that's all irrelevant. What matters is that you have a window of time to do whatever propo you need to do. Coin wants you to head out this afternoon."

Before I can thank him, he stops me.

"Just remember this: I'm still your mentor, and what you will be getting into is potentially way more dangerous than the arena. So if you are going be going out there, you have to listen to everything I tell you. No arguments. Agreed?" He holds out an earpiece, but as I reach for it, he pulls his hand back.

"And I definitely don't want you to become a martyr."

When I nod, he hands me the gadget and continues on. "Alright then, grab your stuff and go to the Remake Room; they'll probably have your outfit waiting there. After that, somebody will escort you to the hovercraft. We'll be waiting for you."

After getting some necessities, I head over to the Remake Room with a feeling of anxiety.

While this is what I wanted, I can't shake the feeling that I'm simply heading over into another arena.


	10. Game On

***The Capitol: Several Days Ago***

"You did well out there Katniss," I tell her over another dinner. "And considering how smoothly things have been going lately and how cooperative you've been, I'd say another concession is in order."

"What kind of concession?"

I simply shake my head and smile. "Now, now. That's to be a surprise."

Things have indeed been going quite smoothly.

The first interview managed to demoralize some of the rebels. Not enough to make a discernible impact yet, but a good start so far. I have a good feeling that the recent footage of Katniss will add upon that good fortune.

More importantly have been the constant strategic gains being made recently, even without the assistance of that blasted commander from Central. And neither Two nor Twelve show any signs of restlessness.

To top things off, construction of the Fort East is nearing completion. Once finished, it should give us a foothold to launch a direct campaign against Thirteen.

Also, ever since she and her mother have been working at Panem Medical Center, Primrose has been keeping her mouth shut. The return of her cat seems to have improved her disposition vastly as well.

All in all, I can't complain.

Without warning, my projector comes to life.

"What's this now?" I haven't authorized any broadcasts recently.

However, instead of the Capitol seal, it's Thirteen's with the mockingjay motif superimposed over it.

So the rebels have finally managed to break in. Probably with Beetee's help.

Of course, the video starts off with Plutarch Heavensbee introducing himself and dramatically summarizing the events leading up the Rebellion. That bloviating gamemaker has always been obsessed with theatrics. I see leaving the Capitol has not changed him one bit.

After Plutarch has finished with his pontificating, the footage cuts to Cressida Fowler, which explains where she went. Fowler was a high profile, and one of the most respected, journalists in Panem. The Capitol was actually rocked by scandal for a while when she and several of her co-workers disappeared without a trace. Naturally, Katniss' and Peeta's Victory Tour pushed that out of everybody's mind; such is the fickleness of Capitol attention.

In any case, I have little doubt as to who the main speaker will be.

Katniss gasps when Peeta Mellark is finally introduced; most likely since she has not seen any sign of him for weeks, but also probably because of the physical state he's in. No doubt this was actually shot not very long after our interview went out, but it's clear that the short amount of time between his escape and the arrival to District Thirteen has not been good to him.

"Mr. President," Ferrier, my communications specialist, calls in over the speaker, "what do you want me to do?"

"Nothing for now," I say with an amused smile. "But on my signal, cut the broadcast."

Mellark's describing what it's like to be in the arena. Normally, I would have them shut it off by now, but I decide to let it keep going a bit. The citizens of the Capitol are enthralled by such things, and I might as well give them some entertainment. Once things start veering into dangerous territory, I'll easily have the broadcast shut down.

Which seems right about now as it looks like he about to get into the subject of the relationship; some uncomfortable truths may surface as to why it was a sham.

"Alright, this has gone long enough. End it."

The image flickers as my technicians work to bring down the broadcast. At any moment now, it should shut off.

_Any moment now…_

Nothing's happening.

I frown at the image.

"Mr. Ferrier, I am still seeing it running. Are you or are you not shutting it down?"

"Um, sir… we can't."

Any lingering amusement slips away pretty quickly. Especially since it's has just been flat out mentioned that I threatened Katniss.

"What?" I demand through clenched teeth.

"We are trying the best we can!" That idiot of a technician is practically squeaking.

"Then try harder! We have the most updated infrastructure in this nation and a team of skilled specialists. They have a single aging victor. Are you honestly telling me you can't stop this broadcast?" By now, the boy is actually going into the subject of the war, which is as far past unacceptable as we can get.

"They seem to have several redundancies in place. We take one safeguard out, and there are several more replace it. They may even have some proxies here in the Capitol."

"Take as many out as you can then! You supposedly have a brain; use it! Is there no other option?"

"There is shutting down the grid, but you know what that will entail."

_Dammit…_

So now I have to sit here, impotent, and watch as this _child_ attempts to undermine me.

By the time the interview has concluded, Mellark is screaming for the district to focus all their energy towards beating the Capitol. Then it ends with Plutarch's typical flair.

I get up, walk to the liquor table, pour myself a straight glass of Scotch, down the drink, and then I hurl the tumbler against the wall. The crystal shatters into a multitude of fragments, causing my dinner guests to jump.

With that single interview, Peeta Mellark managed to make the false relationship sympathetic and allying with District Thirteen the lesser evil. Worse, he managed to do all of this without uttering a single lie.

I should have killed the damn sentimental fool in the very beginning. If he would have died before Crane made that idiotic decision to allow two tributes, then Katniss, had she won, would have just been another victor

However, I was so focused on her and those berries that I ignored the boy that made that action possible. The boy who willingly stoked those embers of discontent into flames of rebellion, while keeping himself in the Mockingjay's shadow. Hell, Katniss wouldn't have cast such a large shadow if it weren't for his actions. The declaration of love, the willingness to let himself die at the revoking of the rule change, the gift to the District Eleven, the lie about the marriage and the baby…

The only two other characters that approached his ability in crafting Katniss into the "Mockingjay" were Rue and Cinna. The former's martyrdom was unfortunately inevitable, and latter has been taken care of. But now that option is off the table as well. I just had to make the damn promise with Katniss that I wouldn't specifically target Mellark for death. I may be a lot of things, but I'm not an oathbreaker. The best I can hope for is him getting killed off early on in the war before he becomes true martyr material.

Looking over, I see that the Everdeens are looking at me quite fearfully. So, I take a moment to take a few deep breaths, as I straighten my collar and smooth back my hair, before addressing them.

"I'm sorry you all had to see me lose my composure like that. Don't worry, Katniss, my promise still stands. Now if you excuse me, I have some business to attend to. All of you are free to go."

None of them say anything as they leave, other than the usual pleasantries of thanking me for the dinner, though now Primrose is looking particularly smug.

After the door shuts, I bring the footage back up and pause it to glare at Mellark's frozen face.

_So you finally managed to step into this arena. Well then, Mr. Mellark… Game on._

_Game on._


	11. Suit Up

Probably since only a several days have passed since I was last worked-on, this session is blissfully straightforward. Some cleaning here, some hair work there, and of course a bit more work around my eyes; I doubt they will ever be able to remove the shadows. But otherwise, it's short and sweet.

Despite still being fairly nervous living in Thirteen, the prep team is currently in better spirits than they were during the last session I had with them. While Gale has unsurprisingly been unsympathetic to their plight, the rest of the Hawthornes have been very accommodating. Posy has gone so far as to offer compliments and allow them to do her hair every morning.

As they work on me, they talk about how good of a subject I've been, even though they still miss Katniss a lot. At the very least, I'm apparently being an easier person to work with than the "other guy".

_Other guy?_

Before I can ask who they're talking about, they declare the job finished. After all three wish me luck, they head out of the room and leave me with my clothes. It's just like seen in the sketches. Black pants, black combat boots, and a white t-shirt. When put together, it actually looks like I'm wearing a pair of dress pants and shoes, but at the same time the pants feel very durable and the boots lightweight. It's clear that Portia designed these to take a lot of abuse, yet still keep me comfortable and looking good for the audience. The shirt just seems like something to wear under the coat... which is actually not present.

My question as to its location is answered when I exit the room to see Beetee waiting for me with a long box. And an exceedingly wide grin on his face.

"You look really excited."

"Well, who knew that working on an article of clothing, of all things, would give me such a sense of accomplishment? Your stylist is a freakin' genius."

He opens the box so I can see for myself. The first thing I notice is that the coat isn't solid black as I imagined from seeing the sketches. Instead, it consists of various shades of black and charcoal arranged in an assortment of patterns that would be indistinct from a distance past a couple feet but, on closer inspection, are elaborate and flame-like. Just as indistinct are a series of lines which crisscross the fabric. The only sign of color on the whole thing is a small golden mockingjay insignia on the collar. It's indeed a beautiful piece.

I finally pick the coat up to examine it better. On the back, I see that the lines are especially concentrated along my spine and shoulders, and the patterning takes the form of a pair of wings. "Thing's a lot heavier than I expected."

"That's because of this." Beetee peels back the soft interior lining to reveal a hexagonal mesh. There's something really familiar about it…

"It's body armor, isn't it?" Just like what Cato wore.

"Yes, and there's a reason, besides aesthetics, that your coat goes past the knees. It should protect you against most conventional arms fire as well as indirect blade attacks and, most importantly, flying shrapnel. There is some stopping power against high-caliber projectiles, though the trauma you would receive likely negate most of the benefits. And even small-arms fire will probably hurt like hell and cause serious bruising, so don't go around trying to get shot. I general, this is made more for comfort and mobility than for protection, though it should be more than sufficient for what you'll be doing. And if you so wish, there's enough room to fit a protective vest inside."

He puts the lining back in place. "The interior lining should also provide a significant amount of additional protection as it is made from spider silk—oh, don't look at me like that," Beetee snaps in response to my likely chagrined expression. "I suppose I shouldn't tell you what regular silk consists off. Or what a lot of things that you probably like have in them."

"Well," I say, trying not to think of all the times I've ran face-first into spider webs, "it _is_ very comfortable."

"See? That's the spirit. Anyways," he flips the coat over so we can see the exterior, "the external fabric itself is made to withstand abrasion and bladed instruments. It's also both water-repellant and fire-resistant. Your pants are of a similar material, though they won't afford the same degree of physical protection. And of course this all won't protect you against convection or smoke inhalation, though there's a mask for the latter." He takes a moment to sigh, "It's a pity we don't have time, otherwise we could probably have done a live-fire demonstration to test out its capabilities."

_No doubt while I'm wearing it._

I show him a pained smile. "Maybe when I get back." _Not._

As I look over the coat again, suddenly the fact that it's August becomes a very uncomfortable fact. "It's still summer. Is it really a good idea to wear something this dark and heavy?"

"Already taken into account," Beetee chirps. "Take a look at the lining again."

When I do, I can see that there are another series of lines, mostly concentrated around my back and the nape of my neck.

He goes on to explain: "Those lines, whenever the temperature is above your comfort zone, will cool down to maintain the interior temp. In a cold setting, they do the opposite for the same effect."

"Damn… that's pretty sophisticated." By now, even I'm in awe.

"I know, right!" Beetee's positively elated explaining this. "When this is over — assuming we survive of course — I seriously have to meet your stylist."

"I'll be sure to tell her she has another fan out there," I say as I finally put the coat on — its heaviness isn't noticeable when being worn — and secure the belt that's around it.

Beetee uses that period of time to bring out another box. "Since you aren't exactly going to have a lot of pockets, the belt's there to hold your stuff."

He hands me various survival essentials: among other things, a canteen, several pouches to carry essentials, gas mask, and combat knife. "I know that you're supposed to look as personable and nonthreatening as possible, so all of those were designed to keep an exceedingly low profile. Also, there's a spot to secure your cane if need be; just break it in half to fit it into these loops.

"Aand that should be it!" He looks at me expectantly as if I were a student about to ask another question.

All I do is try to give him a hug, which he deftly avoids, and say, "Seriously, Beetee, thanks." Despite all his quirks, the guy does good work, and I don't think people give him enough credit.

"Aw, don't get gooey on me. Besides, it's your stylist who provided the plans and materials; I just oversaw the adaptation and implementation." He suddenly loses his cheery demeanor. "But seriously kid, stay safe out there. I've seen far too many young ones like you die in both the arenas and Three. It may not affect me as personally as some of the others, but that doesn't mean I don't give a damn."

I nod. "I understand, and don't worry; I have no intention of dying this time."

He gives a small smile. "I thought as much. Alright, we've dallied long enough. Any longer and Command will have my hide."

I gather my things and walk out of the Remake Center to see Commander Boggs patiently waiting for me. He nods approvingly at my costume before beckoning for me to follow him.

When our elevator finally arrives at the Hanger, I see rows upon rows of aircraft and give him a very pointed look.

"I know what you're thinking, Mellark. That Everdeen may have a point about not trusting us. Well I'm telling you that we didn't have a choice." While we are in a very open space, he still keeps his voice down.

He goes on to explain that there was no opportunity for counterattack. That they were busy trying to survive. That continuing would have resulted in mutually-assured-destruction. It all sounds rehearsed.

"Just answer me this, Commander: were you around for the Dark Days?"

He shakes his head, then adds, "By the way, just call me Boggs."

"Alright, then just call me Peeta. In any case, you don't think it remotely suspicious that there's little history on Thirteen?"

When he doesn't say anything, I continue: "Because what little information I could find tended to be indirect mentioning. But I've got enough information to make this conclusion: even into much of the Dark Days, Thirteen had extremely favorable relations with the Capitol. Considering how quickly they withdrew when terms were offered, I doubt that altruism was a factor for rebelling."

Boggs doesn't say anything but from the expression on his face, I can tell he already harbors doubts. But considering I don't have enough info yet, I decide not to push the issue.

When we reach the hovercraft, I see that everybody else is already there and waiting for me. Other then several soldiers and work crew, I spot Haymitch, who's still looking at me pretty sourly, Chaff, the film crew, Plutarch, and Fulvia

If it wasn't possible before for a person to simultaneously hold an expression of both approval and distaste on their face, Fulvia achieved that now. I think she's still pretty steamed about me partly dictating the terms of my appearance during the interview and makeovers. That, by now, my weary complexion has become a constant doesn't help things one bit.

She sighs. "At the very least, the outfit is really sharp and compliments you well. And I don't doubt your oratorical skills. Still…" She reaches inside a huddle of people to yank somebody out to display to me. "Doesn't he look marvelous?"

_So that's the "other guy" who the prep team was talking about: Gale._

I don't know whether to laugh at his current sheepishness or to be uncomfortable at the way Fulvia's question was phrased. So I instead just pour all my focus on what he's wearing, which isn't the usual set of Thirteen fatigues.

Instead it's some kind of form-fitting body armor, and it's clear that, unlike my coat, the primary purpose Gale's outfit is for protection in combat, judging from the rigid plates covering his body. A bracer is on his left arm, and a sheath is attached to his back. The last thing I take note of is the stylized nature of the armor plates, as well as the general color scheme: black with patches of white around the sleeves. He's supposed to be a mockingjay.

"The costume was originally designed by Cinna for Katniss," Plutarch says when he notices the subject of my attention. "But, in her absence, it made perfect sense to have Hawthorne wear it. It wasn't too hard to adapt to both his gender and physique, though in the process we removed the majority of the stylistic elements and made it much more utilitarian in design."

He appraises Gale, who's looking more uncomfortable by the minute. "I have yet to coin something for him. Originally, he was to be the 'Mockingjay's Cousin', but alas…"

At that point, Gale stops looking uncomfortable and starts looking pissed, which is a good sign as any to board the hovercraft.

After a couple minutes, the rest of the group boards and it's not long after we all strap in that the hovercraft begins taking its path out of the Hanger.

As we begin our ascent, a random question come to the forefront of my mind.

"So, Plutarch…"

"Hmm?"

"What does _'Vox'_ mean?"

"I'm kind of surprised you haven't asked me that earlier."

"Never found the time."

"Well, in any case, it's a Latin word which translates to 'voice'."

_Ah, so Avox means "lack of voice". Never thought of it that way._ "So what made you choose that word?"

"I'm surprised you haven't figured that out. Your gift has always been that of speech. During the Quarter Quell interview, you gave voice to the concerns of the victors and many in the districts. Now you're giving voice to the Rebellion and the districts as a whole. Officially, my title for you is 'Voc Libertas', or the 'Voice of Freedom', but Vox is much simpler in practice."

"Seems to be a lot to put on a seventeen-year-old."

"Well, the path to greatness is not always something that is voluntary. You'll do fine."

_I'm just hoping this doesn't blow up in my face._

And that's the primary thought that sticks with me as the hovercraft gets closer to its destination and whatever fate awaits me there.


	12. Eight

Since the fortification of Twelve, apparently hovercraft travel from Thirteen has become even more risky than before. It's clear that the Capitol is trying put a stranglehold on the district as it moves to put down the rest.

So to be on the safe side, our trip consists of the hovercraft hugging the coastline of the Eastern Wilderness. I spend much of the time peering out to view remnants of the civilization that came before. While most of the cities in that area were completely leveled by nuclear strikes around the time of the Great Cataclysm, there are still traces of the once-proud nation to be seen: be it in the lucky set of intact ruins or the faint paths that denote the great highways which used to crisscross the land.

When I'm not enjoying the sights, I'm catching up with my fellow travelers. Talking with Gale and Chaff, I can see that I'm not the only one who was provided with custom goodies by Beetee.

Due to his hunting background, and probably the desire to connect him to Katniss, Gale's been provided with a bow. However, it's definitely not the familiar kind that I've seen in the Games or back home. This one's a heavy-duty piece of machinery that has a complex pulley system as well as a sight-and-laser system for better aiming. To top things off, he's given a quiver that is divided into three sections for different types of arrows: incendiaries, explosives, and conventional broadheads.

In Chaff's case, there was the tiny issue of him missing an entire hand and Thirteen not really having any good prosthesis specialists. So it seems that Beetee decided to go for the overkill method and give him a grenade launcher. A special saddle was made for his shoulder so that there was a stable spot to rest the weapon on, and all he had to do to reload was tip the thing backwards so that the ammo backpack took care of the rest. To top things off, Chaff's stump was given an attachment just to help hold the weapon and to program what kind of grenade he desired for the next reload.

The eager way at which they both show off the weapons is a bit… disconcerting.

Plutarch is enthusiastically keeping me updated on the effect of my interview. Apparently, after it had released, many of the districts did successfully rally. However, we still have a long road ahead of us. He also tells me that I'm going to shoot the propo at a makeshift hospital.

Just as well; it's not like I'm the type that would do well in a battlefield.

At the announcement that we are approaching Eight, I grab my essentials, which, other than the cane and what I already have secured on my belt, simply consists of a large rigid backpack. With time to spare, I take in the scenery.

When we were in that district during the victory tour, I definitely did not gain a positive impression from the place. Sure, Twelve is so covered in coal dust that our teeth are slightly stained from it; this place took dreariness to the next level. The first thing we noticed was how the sky always had this haziness to it from all of that smoke belching from the factories. Once we were outside, all the machinery from the factories created this cacophonous din that was inescapable; just as inescapable was the caustic scent of all the dyes utilized. And the people… that desperate hungry look that thinly veiled a true feeling of absolute rage at the injustices perpetrated around them.

Now, smoke still fills the sky. However, it is not from textile production but the burning of buildings all around.

As a precaution, the hovercraft goes into a steep and rapid spiral in its descent, we are ordered to disembark as soon as possible. As I move to leave, Haymitch briefly stops me.

"Remember," he growls, "don't do anything stupid."

"Don't worry, I won't."

"Let me rephrase that: don't do anything that gives you a higher-than-average chance of dying before you reach your twenties." _Dammit, he's good._

"I shouldn't come to that."

"You never know," he grimly mutters. But I'm still allowed to go.

The right after the last of us hit the ground, the hovercraft immediately takes off. Plutarch, Fulvia, and Haymitch are staying there to serve as support.

As our group sets up a makeshift camp, we are approached by a harried woman. She has to be in the lower thirties, but the war has definitely taken its toll on her physical state. Besides the assorted injuries — many of which look like they haven't been properly taken care of — there is a heavy look of fatigue that appears to have aged her a decade. Unlike Thirteen's soldiers, her combat gear mostly consists of street clothes and scavenged Peacekeeper armor.

Boggs motions me over to stand next to him, "Peeta, this is Commander Paylor."

"So you're Peeta Mellark…" She looks me up and down, definitely sizing and seeing what I'm made of. At first glance, considering her haphazard appearance, one wouldn't think that she was a high ranking officer. The lack of indentifying patches doesn't help, though it makes sense considering how the warzone is. However, there is a way that she holds herself up and speaks that commands authority and leaves no doubt as to her leadership skills. At the same time, her authoritative tone doesn't set me on edge like Coin's; instead it is the type of tone one may expect from a teacher.

"Yes, Commander. A pleasure to meet you." I smile and extend my hand out, which she warily takes. It's definitely going to take more than a warm greeting to let her know I'm on her side.

After the rest of the group is introduced, she beckons us to follow her. We head to what used to be a warehouse; now an "H" has been painted on the roof, and medics are hurrying in and out of the structure through a doorway covered by a thick curtain. I can hear Gale questioning Paylor as to the safety of such a facility; she gruffly retorts that it's the best they have and that she's open to any alternatives.

Outside the doorway, there are rows upon rows of covered corpses, many bloated in a state of advanced decomposition.

Suddenly I feel a sense of dreadful anxiety creep up on me, as if I will regret crossing that curtained threshold. However, the constant scrutiny from Paylor keeps me going closer and closer to it.

The moment I pass through the curtain, a thick wall of stagnant humidity, which has to be several degrees warmer than the summer air outside, slams into me.

I take a deep breath to compose myself; big mistake. As my eyes adjust to the light and the haze, the first thing that meets me are the smells: the acrid scent of vomit, the sharp odor of urine, the pungent stink of fecal matter, the muskiness of mold and mildew, the vaguely sour yet metallic smell of blood, the antiseptic scent of disinfectant, the sickly sweet stench of decomposition… All of it mixing together into a morbid cocktail that's so thick I can actually taste it. I have to resist the temptation put on the mask given to me.

Then come the sounds: the moaning of the injured, the plaintive cries for help, the soft mutterings of comfort and sharp wails of grief from loved ones, the frustrated curses from medics and healers, the buzzing of flies and skittering of vermin… Occasionally, I hear a wet sawing noise accompanied by muffled screams. The metal structure helps concentrate this into an echoing cacophony.

Finally my vision clears, and I get to view everything in its full glory; what little light is available is provided by the skylights. It is obvious that most of the people there are from the bombings. There are burns victims all over the place with charcoal flesh and blistered skin. In some cases, people might as well been made of candle wax, by the way their features have melted together into amorphous and mottled forms. On top of all of this, many folks are missing various body parts — limbs, eyes, other parts of the face, entire sections of the body —, some still have chunks of assorted shrapnel imbedded within them, and others are so badly maimed in the stomach that there is a struggle to keep their intestines inside.

Then I notice is how little resources there are and how overcrowded the place is. People are not only laid on the rows-upon-rows of cots; they even placed on the floor as close together to save space. The floor itself is so slick with various bodily fluids that I almost lose my balance a couple times. Gale's definitely right about the place; I may not have any medical background, but cramming people like that in such unsanitary conditions can't be healthy.

And the bleak expressions of complete hopelessness on the faces…

I take back all the times I've made fun of Katniss' squeamishness. Nothing — not the Games, not helping Gale out after the whipping, not even the convoy of wounded we walked along — could have prepared me for the spectacle we've just entered into.

_Haymitch was right. This is a mistake. What was I thinking? I'm just good at cooking, hiding, and spouting fancy words. I'm not cut out for being in the field. I'm probably going to end up breaking down right in front everybody, especially Paylor. This does more harm than good. What am I supposed to d—_

A strong grip on my shoulder brings me back to reality. I look behind to see Gale and, from the focused look on his face, he's making it clear that he's going to help get me through this any way he can. The irony of the situation almost makes me laugh, but I'm thankful nonetheless.

I look at the rest of the team. Other than Boggs, the soldiers who come with us look about as sick as I feel; I don't blame them as training can only prepare for so much. To their credit, the film crew looks almost completely unfazed — well, with the gear their wearing, it's hard tell with Castor and Pullox — but from the stuff that Cressida has described witnessing firsthand, I'm unsurprised.

So I take a few moments and have a mental countdown before forcing myself forward along a narrow aisle, all the while tightly gripping the handle of my cane in the process. At first people don't take notice of me, probably thinking us to just be another, albeit strangely dressed, group of soldiers making our rounds.

Suddenly a young boy, probably acting as a courier by the way he's carrying some medical equipment, runs right into me. At first he's just making some terse apologies as he rushes to put stuff back onto the tray. As I crouch down to help him though, he finally looks up. Despite the seriousness of the situation, the kid's reaction borders on the comical. At first he narrows his eyes as if trying to make sense of me, who's currently handing over the last set of bloody scalpels; suddenly, said eyes become as wide as saucers and his jaw goes slack.

"Peeta? Is — is that you?"

When I nod my head and smile, he suddenly bolts off in the opposite direction — I really hope he doesn't drop that tray again — while squealing repeatedly, "It's Peeta! Peeta Mellark is here!"

Almost like a ripple emanating from the boy's path, people turn their faces towards us. Accompanying that, the moans, screams, and sobs slowly but surely become replaced with hopeful mutterings, then finally elated calling-out of my name.

The shift in the atmosphere actually helps me press on as a multitude hands reach out to me. I shake as many as I can, and allow others to grip my arms or my coat. For those too weak to move, I reassuringly pat them where they're uninjured. Some, who are more able to move, go so far as to embrace me. I don't do any fancy speeches, no loud words of inspiration; that's not what these folks need. They need a friendly face, casually saying hi, enquiring about the little things in life, even making a joke — mostly at my own expense — here and there. I do offer strong words of encouragement towards the fatigued physicians doing their jobs.

Best of all, people still inquire about Katniss. They don't blame either of us for the lies we created before, understanding the cruel circumstances we were put in. And they understand that Katniss' is working under duress right now; the Caged Mockingjay, they now call her. I respond to that moniker by saying that she may be caged, but that doesn't mean she still can't sing. Assurances are thrown towards me that I'll get her out and that we can finally be together. Fortunately, Gale shows no sign of those comments affecting him.

Upon coming across a group of especially weak patients, I end up taking my canteen off and allowing them take a sip. Gale follows suit with another patient. The canteens are passed around quite a few people until they return to us completely empty. I know there isn't enough to give to everybody, but it's the best I can do.

Once I reach the opposite end, I miraculously find a relatively clear spot to plop myself down. As people, mostly kids, gather around me, I take the pack off and open it. To the gasps of those around me, inside is an assortment of random small baked goods.

Most of them are cake balls and small cookies as they had staying power — I made these ones a days ago — and were the easiest to make in distributable batches with relatively minimal use of resources. Even so, I had bitter arguments with Coin over the value of doing such a thing. She thought it a complete waste. I countered that people are not buoyed by words alone; that incident, which I did not share with her, over six years ago was proof of that. Finally she relented under the pretense that this be experimental. As a result, I only had a limited amount that I could give out.

So I give priority to the children. Out of formality, I offer a cake ball to Paylor, but she declines saying that the kids should go first; the refusal ratchets her up several levels of respect in my book. As I hand out a treat to each treat, I can see cautious disbelief give way to joyous elation. Normally, the idea of eating in this setting would probably be repulsive; they have probably been here so long that they've acclimated. And even though I had a limited amount, like with the water, everybody seems to have a look of gratitude. To top things off, many of the kids broke their treats into small pieces and ran back to their loved ones to share.

Finally it comes time to leave. I smile and wave to everybody as I walk out. When the crowd reciprocates the gesture along with chants of my name, I admit that I felt a strong sense of accomplishment, especially since less than an hour ago I sensed nothing but despair there. Despite the hellish environment I'm in, seeing the joy on everybody's face makes up for all of it and then some.

It isn't until we walk outside that I realize how acclimated I became with the oppressive air inside the hospital. The cane thankfully keeps me from collapsing outright as I thankfully breathe in the fresh air. Boggs lets both me and Gale drink out of his canteen as both of ours have been completely drained. I only take a couple sips before handing it over to Gale, who completely guzzles it. Beetee was proven right in that the coat kept me from turning into a ripe mass of sweat; Gale wasn't as lucky.

"Good job in there," Boggs says, slapping me a couple times on the back. The film crew also gives me some appreciative comments and tells me that they got some excellent footage.

"I'm just glad I didn't have a little freak-out in there. Speaking of which…" I turn to Gale. "Thanks for helping me out."

He just waves me off. "It's the least I can do. Somebody has to be the strong one of the bunch."

Some people may have taken that as an insult, but I just chuckle. Despite our relationship with each other in the years prior, it's good to have him around. If not friend, I definitely see him as a trusted comrade.

Still, I can't resist throwing something in: "It's still good that you helped out. If I would have freaked, the speaking role would have probably fallen to you. Then we'd truly and utterly be screwed."

"Screw you, Mellark." Though I can see a smile playing on his lips. A few seconds later, both of us are laughing our heads off; I have to completely lean on my cane now, and Gale's actually on the ground in stitches.

_Heh… We're complete lost causes, aren't we? _

Paylor, who had also followed us out, finally chimes in once both of us have calmed down. "I have to admit, I didn't think you had it in you, Mellark. I also apologize for my brusque behavior earlier."

That causes me to chuckle some more. "Please, call me Peeta. And truth be told, I didn't think I had it within me either. But," I say, looking her straight in the eye, "it didn't seem right for me to spout rhetoric from the safety of Thirteen's bunker while everybody else suffers. Speaking of which, someone really needs to talk to Coin about getting some better medical care out here."

She nods appreciatively but then sighs, "While I'll be grateful for any kind of assistance of that front, I'm not holding my breath. And no offense, I thought you were coming here just to capitalize upon our suffering and turn it into some kind of circus for the masses to gobble up."

"None taken. Truth be told, there was a propo angle to me going out in the field, though I didn't choose the location."

"I'm not naïve to think that there wasn't a spin to this visit. And I'll be the first to admit that we need all the publicity we can get, even if it does require turning this war into a circus.

"My point though is this: the way you were walking among the injured and giving the treats to the kids, a thought dawned on me. It isn't just for the cameras, or to help spur on the Rebellion, or even some sense of obligation. You actually like helping others out, don't you?"

I shrug. "It just seems to be the decent thing to do."

"Well don't lose sight of that principle. The way things are going currently, good old-fashioned decency is going to be in short supply. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm probably needed back at our command station."

"I suggest you hurry there or towards any sort of shelter," Boggs suddenly cuts in, his face set in a grim expression as he throws a spare helmet onto my head. "We have bombers inbound."


	13. Don't Play the Hero

Paylor lets off a string of curses and runs off.

I quickly break my cane in two and holster the sections before following Boggs. As we run towards base camp, the sirens begin blaring, and a formation of bombers uncloaks to deliver its payload.

Explosions rock the place and Haymitch snarls, "Dammit! I knew that they were just gearing up for another attack. We can't land with this kind of bombardment, so you'll just have to find shelter until things pass."

"So this doesn't have anything to do with my presence?"

"Too short of a window for that; we planned your visit as pretty spur-of-the-moment," Plutarch calmly says.

As we arrive back at camp, which had been set up under an old bridge, I think over the reasoning for the bombing.

_If it isn't because of me, the attack seems pretty pointless. There aren't any military targets of value here. Unless…_

_They're going after the hospital_.

The concept is so horrific, but it makes complete sense. It isn't enough to take people out of commission; one has to get rid of any possible way for them to recover from it, even if the facilities are currently subpar. Also there is the purpose of showing the rebels that there's no place safe for them to be.

I ask Plutarch, "Has the hospital been hit yet?"

"It doesn't look like it. But I don't see how that is any of your concern."

"Like hell it isn't!"

"Boy…" Haymitch cuts in, "I know what you're thinking. Don't you fucking dare play the hero."

"It's not just about doing what's right," I retort. "If the supposed symbol of the Rebellion does nothing but hunker down when the going gets tough, what image do you think that will paint of us?"

"Well it's not like people are going to see you hiding out," Plutarch counters.

"No, of course you won't have that in the propos. But conclusions can be drawn, and who's to say that the Capitol doesn't have cameras around to watch us take shelter? On the other hand, if I go out there, you'll have a beneficial boost to your propos the likes which have never been seen. But the longer we stand and argue, the more the opportunity slips away." I can just see the wheels turning in Plutarch's head. Some people are just too easy to manipulate.

Haymitch is a tougher guy to convince. "Come on. Just… please don't go out there. I can't lose you as well." By now, his hostile tone has been replaced with a pleading one. That causes me to grimace. I really can't blame the guy. Time after time, he has mentored kids in a one-way manner. Just a year after he actually brings two back home, one has been taken under his watch. And now the remaining kid wants to get into another dangerous situation.

"Haymitch," I say in the same tone I used when comforting the dying girl from Eight and the addict from Six, "it's okay. I may not be a fighter, and my survival skills are definitely suspect, but you can't deny that I'm still a survivor."

"You've died three times out there."

"Losing the leg only counts as one. And in any case, I came back each time."

"… You're really planning on going ahead with this, aren't you?"

"Yes, with or without your permission. I wouldn't be able to live with myself otherwise. But I'd rather you be there for me."

"… Do you know that talking to you can sometimes be real a pain in the ass?"

I laugh. "I don't doubt it. Still, will you help me?"

After a protracted sigh, "There's going to be hell when we get back. What do you need me to do?"

"While you guys can't get close, you probably still have a good vantage point of the area. Be my eyes in the sky and let me know what's going on."

"Alright. In any case, stay alive."

"Don't worry. I have no intention of being a martyr," I end on a defiant note.

_Now that's out of the way, here comes challenge number two._

I turn towards Boggs, who's been watching my conversation attentively, and steel myself for a confrontation. I'd probably be able to escape but rather not escalate the situation, especially since he still answers to Coin. So what he does next surprises the hell out of me.

"Mitchell, grab the Hydra; you're also going to assist me with spotting and aiming. Leeg—"

"Yes?" the twins answer simultaneously. _Okay, seriously creepy._

Boggs barely skips a beat before pointing at the one with the gold flecks in her eyes. "Leeg One, you and Holmes will be accompanying Mellark. Leeg Two, you will assist me with reloading and ground defense. Everybody else, see if you can help anybody here with the AA nests. You two," he says, rounding on Gale and Chaff, "I trust you both know what to do."

The only response they give is to bring their weapons out and show smiles so feral that I take a step back.

A short moment passes as everybody is either waiting for more directions or trying to process the ones already given to us. But, as Mitchell comes back lugging what looks to be a massive rocket launcher, all Boggs does just raise his eyebrows in a manner that states, _"Well, don't you all need to be somewhere?"_

All of us scatter to our respective destinations. I bolt back towards the hospital, with the two soldiers following closely behind.

Haymitch comes back on. "Kid, we have another formation coming in, and I can easily see you from up here. You'll need be more careful about how you move."

So we end up running closely along the warehouses and through the alleys, even though it takes a bit longer.

Suddenly, I see the formation materialize right over us. It's a formation of seven wedged-shaped hoverplanes in a v-formation. Before they do anything, however, a rocket comes whizzing from the direction of base camp. As it gets closer, it explodes forward into three subsidiaries which slam into the three lead bombers. The leader, as well as the one to its left, goes down almost immediately while the one to its right careens out of control and takes out the other two planes from that arm. As the remaining two planes progress, an explosion blossoms in front of one, riddling its cockpit with holes. The last plane suddenly has what looks to be an arrow attached to its wing before that explodes, sending the plane into a spin.

"Okay, now you have a little less than a minute's window before the next wave."

I take Haymich's advice and use that precious time to move in the open again. By the time the aircraft appear, we have finally made it to the hospital, which fortunately hasn't been hit. However, the warehouse adjacent to it definitely has and is ablaze. Considering the proximity, it's clear that the building is going to collapse into the hospital and/or the flames are going to simply spread. Either way, the hospital is no longer a viable place to stay.

Putting my gas mask on, I barge inside and grab the first medic I find. The guy's understandably bewildered.

"Mr. Mellark? Wha—"

"No time! You need to evacuate everybody from here."

"But we can't move many of these people and the bombing—"

Instead of explaining that the hospital isn't exactly fortified, and that they'll probably save more people by dispersing them, I quickly drag him outside and point to the burning warehouse, which is looking more unstable by the minute. The medic's eyes widen at that sight, and he rushes back in to warn the others.

In good time too. As we help evacuate the wounded, flames start appearing at the side closest to the burning warehouse. Due to the inevitability of the situation, people focus on helping move others instead of putting out the blaze. Besides the entrance we came in, there's also an emergency exit that people are quickly evacuating through.

Ultimately, there are also different levels of priority given to the wounded; both to ensure there is enough help to go around and also to prevent clogging up the exits. Of course, those who are able to walk are expected to let themselves out or even help move others if they are strong enough. Children take precedence, as are those who are able-bodied enough to be useful when healed. However, those who have serious enough injuries are passed over; most understand and take things in stride, but others…

Suddenly, a roaring noise can be heard, followed by a loud explosion right outside the front of the hospital. Some people are thrown back from the entrance, which is now on fire.

Leeg runs over to me with a grim expression on her face. "Bomber crashed there. So that entrance is now blocked, and I don't think we can get everybody through the back way in time."

_Dammit…_ Still, we direct everybody towards the back way. Suddenly I get an idea and proceed to unholster the top half of the cane. Walking along the perimeter of the warehouse, I finally find an area of wall that looks both weak, yet flanked on either side by sturdier stretches.

"Alright, everybody step back!" This is either going to work and give us an exit, or it's going to send the whole building crashing on top of us. Not much choice either way.

Holding it by the handle, I point the cane up towards the wall and speak the following command: "2-11-35: Stonecutter." When recorded my voice into the cane, I told Beetee to give it a different prompt as just the word "Cane" could cause it to go off accidentally; so we just made the prompt numerical.

Anyways, what usually would be the taser shoots out and sticks into the wall; however no electricity is shot through it. Instead, the section of cane detaches from the handle and follows the line straight into the wall. Putting the handle into one of my pockets, and praying that Beetee won't kick my ass when I get back, I then yell in rapid succession, "Nightlock, nightlock, nightlock!"

The Nightlock command was something devised for desperate circumstances. Normally it causes the cane to explode in the most spectacular of fashions, taking the user, plus several people around him, with it. However, with the Stonecutter command, it directs the blast towards whatever it's stuck into. In this case, the wall.

Debris flies outward, and everybody steels themselves for the roof to collapse on top of us. Fortunately it doesn't and now we have a good sized exit to escape through. Also, luckily by now, the group we have isn't that big and so is moving out in good time; by now, the other exit has also cleared out. Anybody else… unfortunately is past saving; I try to block out the screams and sounds of crackling flesh.

At that moment, I notice that Messalla and one of the cameramen standing by the exit and capturing footage. I'm pretty impressed that they managed to shadow us the entire way without being noticed.

As I help the last of the evacuees get out, I hear a small set of coughs behind me. Throwing any sense of self-preservation to the wind, I motion for the reporters and soldiers to go on without me — not without some substantial resistance and hesitation on their part — and then proceed to pick my way towards the source of the sound… and the ever-encroaching flames.

Of course, at that moment, Haymitch just has to come on line, "It looks like that's last of them. Why don't I see you amongst the crowd?"

"I think I hear a kid, and I'm going to get her."

Over the headset, I can hear Haymitch putting his hands over his face. "I give up. You're beyond saving."

"Nice of you to finally realize that."

I finally find the source, which is a small girl of about five or six. She's collapsed on the ground and is clearly having trouble breathing due to fumes filling the place up.

As I move to scoop her up, a cracking sound quickly alerts me before fiery pieces of the roof start breaking off. I quickly ball up around her as the chunks fall on top of me. The fragments aren't large or heavy enough to pin or harm me, but even with the flameproof covering and armor of the coat, it still smarts. Not helping are the embers that land on my neck and fall down my collar.

"AGH FUCK!" I really hope the kid didn't pick up on that.

"What happened?" Haymitch yelps.

"Nothing to worry about, just some debris!"

Before getting up to run out, I quickly take of the mask and fix it on the girls face. "I think you need this more than me."

"Your voice no longer sounds muffled. Please tell me you didn't just give away what I think you just gave away," Haymitch groans.

"Sorryhaymitchcanthearyou! Buildingcollapsingaroundme!"

"WHAT?" Okay, maybe I used a bad choice of words. To be fair, the hospital is indeed starting to completely fall apart now.

As I hurry my way towards the exit, it does occur that taking the mask off may have not been the smartest of choices. Now on top of the previous stuff in the hospital's air, there's now the added bonus of toxic fumes and the scent of burning flesh. I have less than sixty feet to travel, but each step seems to increase the distance tenfold. Coughs wrack my body due to my respiratory system feeling like it's simultaneously being clogged and having an entire layer stripped away with each breath. I have to keep myself from tripping as my vision as completely clouded from the tears; even they aren't enough to stop the feeling of my eyes being scalded. And… _wow I'm ____feeling_ really woozy. 

I don't know how, but I finally make it to the exit. The promise of fresh air both clears my vision breath a bit; at least enough to give me energy for that final push. Of course a flaming piece of sheet metal has to fall in my way, blocking my exit path, with cries of dismay being heard from the other end. When that happens, something inside me snaps.

_No. I've gone too far. I've argued with my mentor about this. I feel like hell. And now this happens? I'm not going to become a martyr just because of some stupid sheet of corrugated roofing. And I'm not in the fucking mood for further delays! _Vocal translation: "AAAARRGGH!"

I follow that up with an angry kick. The sheet's… lighter than I expected and simply falls over. On the bonus note, it does provide a nice ramp for walking over the strewn rubble created by my earlier exit strategy.

When I walk outside — allowing that fresh air to wash over me — I see everybody gathered in a crowd, which hints that there aren't any more bombs on the way. The reaction I get is… interesting. I mean, of course it's a bit disingenuous to expect cheering or anything of that short. I however, did not expect everybody to simply stare in the most bewildered of expressions. Even Gale, who looks like he's just finished off an impassioned speech to Cressida, is completely slack-jawed when he turns around to see me.

I feel a tug of irritation. _Did they not expect me to survive or something? Never seen a guy escape from a burning building?_

Haymitch breaks my train of thought with a long sigh of relief but suddenly follows up with, "The hell?"

Before I can demand an explanation, the girl in my arms giggles and says, "That tickles".

When I look down to ask her what the matter is, I then see why everybody has been staring at me in such a way. It also takes every fiber of my being, with a healthy dose of quick realization, not to scream and tear my coat off due to this very simple reason:

I'm completely wreathed in flames.


	14. Burn

***The Capitol: Four Hours Later***

It was bad enough hearing that we lost several entire set of bomber flights over District Eight. And now I have to deal with this drivel?

Things started out innocently enough. Well, about as innocent as another communications break-in by District Thirteen can be. By now, I don't think my professionals are even trying to stop the broadcasts. And of course, it happened during dinner again.

No doubt that this was in response to the footage of Katniss walking around her home district. Mellark was busy milling around amongst the wretched masses in that makeshift hospital. Nothing much occurring; just the general comforting platitudes and gift giving that seem to characterize that sentimental fool. Though surprising was his extreme amicability with the Hawthorne boy. Both youths were also dressed in attire that seems to be suspiciously stylistic; at the very least, too stylistic to have come from Coin's ridiculously austere district.

At the sight of the other boy, Katniss reacted quite predictably; that is to say, an equal mixture of surprise, longing, and chagrin. Though, interestingly, the longing portion seemed to be different than the one she had when seeing Mellark.

Once the bombers showed up, this went by pretty quickly. Mellark ran to the hospital to get people to evacuate. Hawthorne, the drunk from District Eleven, and soldiers from District Thirteen assisted the District Eight rebels in shooting down the bombers. Mellark blasted a hole in the wall of the hospital to help give an exit. And for some reason, he told the others to go on without him as he went deeper to the burning building.

By the time the combatants took care of the bombers and met with the group of survivors outside the hospital, the building was actively falling apart. Hawthorne actually looked considerably distressed upon hearing that Mellark had not yet reemerged from the wreckage. Fowler decided to take the opportunity to ask him if he had any words to say. When he turned around, there was interplay of various emotions on his face: dismay, grief… and rage.

"Yes… Yes, I do. As you can see, where there was just a bombing attempt on a hospital. While there was no direct hit, there will be a lot of casualties from this. It bears repeating: this was a hospital. Not some military installation, not even a med station for wounded soldiers, but a hospital filled with defenseless men, women, and children," he says, stressing the last several words as his rage takes full control.

"Take a close look around. This is the kind of enemy we are dealing with. The kind that sends kids to die for the entertainment of a few. The kind that works the districts to death. The kind that thinks nothing of bombing a hospital, just so it doesn't have to deal with crippled workers if it wins the war. If you think a ceasefire will stop the horrors, think again. The Capitol is a giant that views the districts as nothing more than playthings that should be beaten if it just slightly displeased with them."

Hawthorne's face suddenly broke into a vicious grin. "Of course, all giants have their weak spots."

Footage was shown of the wrecked aircraft strewn across the landscape. Special attention seemed to be put on the Capitol seal, which was discoloring from the flames.

"Their forces are not invincible. And while the Capitol may be more powerful than the districts by themselves, there is no reason that it can withstand the onslaught of a united front. And to the Capitol…" He pointed one of his arrows straight into the camera with all of the hatred he could muster.

"You might as well make it easy on yourself and call it quits. However, if we are going down, you can bet that we'll bring you down with us!"

However, despite the vitriolic nature of the statement, it all paled in comparison to Mellark's return to the scene, heralded by the banging sound of a piece of sheet metal falling to the ground.

"What." Both Katniss and I had nothing more to say, other than that, at the sight of the spectacle that unfolded before us. Even Primrose seemed to be at a loss for words.

Mellark was standing at the threshold of this burning building with a small child in his arms. However, that's wasn't what caused our bewilderment. Nor was the fact that, besides having a face that was sooty, cut-up, and tearstained, the boy was practically unharmed even after taking off his gasmask.

It was the simple fact that he was on fire.

The fire was nothing like the flaming capes and headdresses of the 74th Games; nor was it like the costumes of glowing ember in the Quell parade. It wasn't even like Katniss' wedding dress. No, what Peeta Mellark had going for him was much worse.

In some spot the fabric itself pulsed deep red along lines and the patterning. However, it was clear that the glowing fabric took up such a small proportion of the outfit so as not to distract from the main event: the orange flames, with some highlights of blue, blazing all over the boy's coat as if he were dipped in oil and lit up.

But in the end, the thing that got my attention the most were the flames at his back and shoulder. They spread out from him in a way that made them look like fiery wings. As if he were a being from some certain banned literature; I seriously doubt that was accidental.

Just when I thought it was finished, Hawthorne had to begin chanting Mellark's name. Before long, the entire crowd was whipped into a frenzy. That's when it mercifully faded to black.

This time, in spite of the considerably more troubling imagery, I managed to keep my composure. Also, to their credit, the Everdeens said nothing for the duration of the time. We actually finished off dinner without incident before I dismissed them.

And now here I am, trying to figure out if I should try to figure out a way to directly counter this or whether I should just stick with the scripted plan.

After several stiff drinks, I make a call to my head of security. "Please send somebody to find Portia Summer, and bring her to my study as soon as possible."

~oOo~

When they bring the stylist in, I decide to start things off idly.

"Do you know that just a little over an hour has passed, and yet many Capitolites are actually fawning over Peeta Mellark to the point of giving him a nickname?"

"Really?" Summer feigns indifference and ignorance, but I can see the elation and self-congratulation behind the carefully constructed Capitol veneer.

"Yes, really. 'The Boy Who Can't be Burned', they are calling him."

"Well, he is a perfect match for the Girl on Fire," she muses. "It almost makes one wonder what they are thinking about the going-ons past the Capitol borders."

"Don't misinterpret the details. Mellark may have gotten their sympathy, but that does not mean that the Rebellion has. The Hawthrone boy's… enthusiasm has been enough to intimidate the citizens enough that they fear the prospect of the rebels coming to power.

"Now, I think it best for both of us if we dispense with the coyness and speak frankly to each other."

She purses her lips at this. "Fair enough."

"Okay then. Now," I bring up the image of Peeta, "were you responsible for designing this outfit?"

She hesitates only a little bit before steeling here resolve and answering firmly, and with no lack of pride, "Yes."

"What about this one?" I bring up Hawthorne.

A look of pain crosses her face. "No, that was Cinna's. Though it was originally for Katniss, and it's clear that they modified it a bit."

"Hmm…" Something just occurred to me. "You were the one who developed the synthetic flames in the first place, weren't you?"

"It was both of our ideas, but yes, I was pretty much in charge of the technical aspects. Cinna was the one who thought the idea up and adapted it to the costumes; he was always the more artistic one." Her expression suddenly shifts from wistfulness to considerable anger. "Of course, until you killed him."

"Now now. Let's not get hostile. Your partner knew the risks when he decided to publically defy the Capitol's authority—"

"You mean your authority!" she spits.

I simply wave that comment off. "Same thing. Now the question is… what are we going to do with you?"

When she doesn't reply, I decide to continue:

"Now it's been clear that between you two, Cinna was the one more closely tied to the Rebellion. So there is no point in getting information out of you. Also, it would be such a shame to lose a talent."

"So then what?" she asks me with an eyebrow raised.

"So then I think a minor disciplinary action would be sufficient. Guards?"

Before Summer can react, my guards restrains her to the chair. In the process, they drape something similar to a long heavy apron over her.

"What is this?" she demand.

I bring out a remote control. "I call it the Test of Humanity. Ring any bells? Probably not; I based the name from an old pre-Cataclysm novel. I don't think the series is even banned, but that's beside the point.

"The point is: this device stimulates your nervous system. So I can initiate all your pain receptors without actually do you physical harm. All the more useful considering that physical harm many times means the death of said receptors."

Fear starts showing on Summer's face, though she remains composed. For now.

"Anyways," I smile at her "considering what you have done, I think it be poetic that we simulate burning.

"Of course, we will start off relatively isolated and mild. Let's say at the arms. So… is there anything you would like to say before we begin?"

"Screw you!"

"Eh… already got that over with." I start the device up.

To her credit, Summers doesn't completely break down when we commence. Probably keeping her composure out of some idea that she won't give me any satisfaction. She simply has no idea how far this can go before her mind shuts down from the pain.

"What do you want from me?" she gasps out after over fifteen minutes has passed, and the power has gone up several notches.

"Simply the satisfaction of you knowing your place in the world."

"You're a monster…"

That elicits a hearty chuckle from me. "You say that as if it were a bad thing. It simply implies that I'm so much more than a man." I dial the power up further.

A small satisfied smirk is allowed to form on my face when her resolves finally breaks in full, and she screams, with a mixture of incoherent yells and pleas for us to end it.

In the end, no matter how defiant they start out, they always scream.

~oOo~

After giving Summer some time to regain her composure, I make sure to give her a reminder of her obligations, with the assurance that there will be no… creative licensing when it comes to Katniss' future outfits.

Moving on to other fronts that I hopefully have a bit more control over, I make a call to my head interrogator. "Dr. Light, are you quite sure that we have gotten all the information possible out of Mr. Odair?"

"Yes, sir. I believe we reached that point three days ago. Anything now is just incoherent gibbering." That gives me considerable satisfaction. _Not so smooth any more, huh Odair?_

"Alright then. Compile any information that you have already obtained and send it to me directly. Though I still want you to see if we can wring anything more out of him, and then some.

"Also, in any case, I think it is safe for us to move on to the next phase. Inform the others to prepare the delivery."


	15. A Special Kind of Evil

Sweat pours in rivulets over my brow and down my back as I help move rubble, and the occasional charred corpse, under the midday sun. I could have worn the coat to dampen the effects, but the majority of its power was drained in producing that little light show of mine.

I decided to spend the night in Eight to help with the recovery efforts, with the agreement that we would go back afterwards. Haymitch was so drained from guiding me during the bombing that he didn't even bother arguing and simply grunted. Boggs agreed and used that time to go over the military plans in Eight. Plutarch was just happy to get good footage. From the broadcast last night, it appears that it didn't take long for him to edit the footage and send it to Beetee.

Of course, they had to first treat me for any injuries I may have sustained during my time in the burning hospital. Fortunately, there wasn't much; some singed eyebrows, small cuts and burns on my face and down the back of my neck, and several large bruises on my back and the back of my legs. The damage to my throat and lungs was bit more serious but would able to be fixed back in Thirteen.

As I work, there's suddenly an alert of an unauthorized hovercraft approaching at low altitude. To our surprise, all it does is settle down at the outskirts of town. When we get there, Paylor has her soldiers surround the Capitol seal-emblazoned hovercraft with heavy weapons trained on it.

"Please, don't shoot! We're unarmed!" Two Peacekeeper pilots, a male and a female, come out with their hands up. Judging from traces of the accent, the guy appears to be from the Capitol, not Two, and they both seem to be around the same age as me or Gale.

I have no desire to see two unarmed individuals gunned down; not even Peacekeepers. Fortunately, Paylor orders everyone to stand down, though she does ask the pilots their purpose.

"Presidential orders," squeaks the woman — no, girl; seems she's also from the Capitol. "We were sent to bring a delivery to Peeta Mellark. 'A token of good faith from a mutual friend,' the president said."

"Okay. You understand that we can't let you return to the Capitol, right?" Paylor looks evenly at the two; they simply nod in resignation. At that, she orders them to be detained until further consideration.

Specialists come to scan the hovercraft and make sure there's no unpleasant surprise waiting for me. That leaves me to mull over the pilot's words.

_Mutual friend? That must mean Katniss. What kind of "token of good faith" would she agree to send? Finnick? Johanna? Effie? Unless he was being sarcastic and sent them in body bags…_

That last thought makes my blood run cold, and I wouldn't put it past Snow to do such a thing.

The scans show that there are no explosive or weapons in the vehicle, but simply a single person; fortunately that person's alive from the looks of it. I decide to be the first one to enter the hovercraft, though there is a security detail behind me with guns at the ready.

It turns out that the person we find sitting calmly in a chair isn't one of victors captured in the Quell, nor is she one of the Capitol citizens who helped us during the Games.

It's Annie Cresta.

~oOo~

They checked Annie over to make sure that she didn't have anything wrong with her. To everybody's surprise, she's in perfect physical condition apart from not seeing the sun for several weeks. However, the most surprising thing was how lucid she is, considering that her reputation has always been that of the crazy girl.

I decide to talk to Annie alone to make sure she's alright. She's sitting on a bench and absentmindedly twirling her hair, its wavy brown strands slipping through her fingers. That, plus the way her green eyes seem to focus on nothing in particular, is really the only indicator of her possible insanity.

"Hi, is it okay if I sit here?"

"Hello, Peeta. Go ahead," she says in a breezy, yet somewhat meek, manner.

I sit as far on the opposite side as I can, as if I may scare her away by being too close. "So, how are you doing?"

"Oh fine. Everybody has been very welcoming. I hear I'll be going to District Thirteen."

"Yeah. I'm sure you'll meet some familiar faces, and they'll find you something to do." I seriously can't say she'll enjoy it there. I'm hard pressed to find anyone who finds Thirteen enjoyable.

Some silence passes between us before Annie speaks:

"I take it you're curious about what went on during my captivity."

"Do… You want to talk about it?"

"Sure."

_Well that was unexpected. _"Sure?"

Annies simply shrugs, "Doesn't make sense to keep things bottled up."

"Oh, okay."

"You probably want to know how Katniss is doing."

_She's good._ "Yeah, I do."

"She's fine. Well, as fine as thing allow. They completely furnished her cell and gave her full privacy. In the end, it really doesn't matter as she is out of cell during most of the day, only coming back during what I assume is the night.

"It shows how comfortable they are trying to make her by the way they torture Finnick and Johanna. Whenever she's in her cell, they do the tortures in a far separate room. When she's away, it's in full view of us."

"That must have been hard." _What kind of statement is that? Of course it was hard._

"It was hard, but I got used to it."

"How do you 'get used to it'?"

"Let me rephrase. They were still hard to watch as Finnick was hurt. But the tortures themselves became something that I grew accustomed to.

"It wasn't like that in the beginning. I would simply shut myself off anytime something bad happened. They even put me and Finnick in cells as far from each other as possible so that we were close enough to remain in sight but far enough not to be able to comfort each other.

"Anyways, Finnick was the one they would interrogate on top of punishing him. In contrast to Johanna, who was simply punished, he had loads of information, starting with the Rebellion itself, and ending with all the secrets he obtained from those he slept with. Probably helped them find disloyal characters in the Capitol.

"In the end, I felt guilty. All though time, Finnick was there to always comfort me, and I never reciprocated. This time, he was the one suffering. So the best way I could give comfort was by staying with him. And to do that, I forced myself to watch as the tortures continued. By the second week, I could watch continuously. After a while, I turned my observations into a game."

"A… game?"

"Yeah. Making it a game made staying with him more bearable. The game was to figure out whenever they were torturing Finnick for information, or whether they were torturing him just to inflict pain for the sake of punishment."

She begins ticking things off from her fingers: "Simulating drowning: interrogation. Peeling off strips of skin from his face: punishment. Chemical injection: interrogation. Repeated beatings: punishment. Sleep deprivation: interrogation. Electrocution… it went either way. And so on… You'd be amazed at the things one can do with a blowtorch. Not to mention the usefulness of certain parts of the body vs other parts. They would even send Finnick for medical treatment so the torture could be prolonged.

"Then there were the days when the guards would visit Finnick's or Johanna's cell. They fought back of course; at least at first. I think Johanna may have managed to break a guard's jaw. However, in the end, the guards would always overpower them and… have their way."

"Wait, even Finnick?"

"Peeta, this has little, if anything, to do with sex. It has to do with dominance. And to leave two strong victors as broken shells is probably the ultimate of dominance. In any case, a couple tried to do it with me, but they were apprehended in time and executed for defying Snow's order to keep me unharmed.

"In any case, Johanna's tortures have kept fairly steady. However, Finnick's seemed to have picked-up a bit. However, there seems to be a line Snow doesn't want to cross. They've haven't castrated him or mutilated the majority of his face, so they're still probably leaving the option open to be put him back on sale, which is probably why."

"Stop right there. What do you mean by 'putting him back on sale'?"

Annie looks at me pityingly, as if I were the most clueless kid in the world. "Do you really think that Finnick enjoys sleeping his way through the Capitol? If a victor is considered attractive enough, Snow sells their body to the highest bidder, regardless of age difference or orientation compatibility. Refuse, and you end up like Johanna, who had her entire friends and family killed off."

_She's right: why did this even surprise me? If we never did the Star-Crossed Lovers thing, could this have been either my or Katniss' fate?_

"I'm sorry, I didn't know. But it makes sense."

"It's alright. When I first heard about it, I jumped to the same conclusions."

Trying to veer the conversation away from more uncomfortable territory, I ask, "Do you know why they let you go?"

"I can think of two reasons. First is because Katniss had been performing so well in front Snow, and that this was a little reward. Secondly would simply be to break Finnick further."

"Before I was escorted out, they installed a jabberjay cage in Finnick's cell. When I was taken away, they made sure to make it look like they shot me once the door closed behind us. Immediately afterwards, I could hear the jabberjay screaming in my own voice…"

Annie pauses and closes her eyes. "My poor Finnick, left alone with that bird to keep him company…"

She finally can't say any more and quietly shuts down. I tentatively wrap my arms around her; she first stiffens at my touch but gradually curls into me. No sobs; just silence.

I can't help but feel a deep sense of regret. _So this is the price they pay for not being picked up. If we would have just stayed together, there's a good chance everybody would have made it out. But now, they have to endure all these horrors._

"Don't worry. We will get them out. Coin will decide to rescue them, and then we'll be all be together." My words are probably more of an attempt at consoling myself than Annie, but she still nods in response. I continue to repeat that mantra out loud as I rock her back and forth.

Under that sadness and hope that I feel, an overwhelming sense of anger courses through me.

There are many horrific things that have made me wish for the Capitol's overthrow: The brutality of the Games. The deprivation of the districts while those in the Capitol actually drink stuff to make themselves puke. Thread whipping Gale and hanging my family. The hospital being targeted.

However, none of those things truly have driven home how much Snow needs to meet an unpleasant end until Annie just told all these things to me. I honestly think I'll enjoy it immensely when I personally see Snow take his final breaths.

Hell, I think I may even pull the trigger.

~oOo~

We are preparing to leave when Pollux runs over to me. Due to the outfits the camera twins wear, making it even harder to tell them apart, I've taken to marking their shoulders with a "C" or "P". However, the thing I notice about him right now is how pale and drawn he is. Something's wrong.

"Pollux, what's up?" I ask, trying to keep the atmosphere casual.

Fortunately, Castor's with us and does a quick explanation. Apparently, Pollux was going around and finishing off some final footage of the district when he stumbled up the detention area. How he was not noticed I have no clue; same goes for back during the bombing. In any case, what he saw and heard disturbed him enough that he left a remote recording device behind to catch what was going on.

At that he brings up a device which apparently displays a live video and audio feed.

The footage is of the inside of the detention facility. The girl Peacekeeper is locked-up in her cell. However, her attention is on her male counterpart, who is kneeling in the middle of the room and surrounded by three rebel soldiers.

The Peacekeeper honestly looks scared out of his wits. "— on guys, you don't have to do this. You're nice people right?" He raises his hands in a placating gesture. That's when I notice the cuts all over his arms.

Chuckles emanate from the three rebels. One, in a vest with yellow highlights, speaks up. "Of course we are. We're the good guys, you see. The best. You, on the other hand, are the evil Peacekeeper."

"I didn't even want to be a Peacekeeper! My family was in debt. This was the only—"

"'My family is in debt!'" Yellow Vest interrupts in a falsetto tone. This earns more laughter from the guards. "Do you have any idea how pathetic you sound?"

"We can work this out. Please don't do this. Let's talk…"

"I'm more of an action man myself." With that, Yellow Vest pulls out a knife and stabs it into the Peacekeeper.

The Peacekeeper screams and curls up on the ground while clutching at his shoulder. "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?" he cries.

"Why? Can you believe the nerve of some people? Why do you think? Your answer's outside."

"That wasn't me! I'm just a courier. I don't even have bomber training."

"Courier… Bomber… A Peacekeeper's a Peacekeeper." He casually twirls the knife in his hand as he reaches down to grab his…subject.

In response, the Peacekeeper keeps squirming around. "Please, don't do this… You don't have to—"

"You sound like a broken record; a squirrely one at that. Guys, help me hold him still."

The other two rebel soldiers move to restrain the Peacekeeper but suddenly recoil in disgust.

"Aw, shit man. Look at that: he just pissed himself!" one of them remarks.

He points and nudges his buddy who simple chortles, "Haha, what a fucking pussy…"

I can barely hear the Peacekeeper muttering repeatedly between sobs, "I want my mom…"

"What's that now?" Yellow Vest leans in with his had cupped to his ear.

"I want my mom…"

"You'll have to. Speak. UP!" With that, he sends a powerful kick into the lower back.

"I WANT MY MOM! I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"

"Hah! Will you listen to this? Somebody wants his mommy!"

"LEAVE HIM ALONE YOU ASSHOLES!" the girl screams.

That causes more chuckling from Yellow Vest. "Aw look, somebody's impatient. Don't worry, little lady. You'll get your turn. Speaking of turns…" He gestures with his knife. "Alright, who wants their turn with this little piece of shit? Someone else hold him down."

Between them going in with the knife and the Peacekeeper screaming repeatedly for his mom, I feel that I've witnessed enough and motion for Pollux to shut off his device.

_I think I'm going to be sick..._ "Annie, please tell me they're looking for information."

"Nope; I believe they're just having fun." The casual way she responds is almost as disturbing as what she's confirming to me.

Despite my wish for Snow, and probably a couple of his key underlings, to die horrible deaths, the wish does not apply to the Peacekeepers in general, despite the fact that they are enemy combatants who will probably have to die in the droves if we are to win this war. I've met enough to know that not all are like Thread or the ones in Eleven. And it's not a Peacekeeper with rebel soldiers that I'm hearing; it's a scared kid being tortured by complete monsters.

As I look around, I see that everybody else is as horrified as I am; well, except for Annie. Even Gale, for all his hatred towards the Capitol, is looking on in disbelief and rage.

"Pollux, that's live right?" When he nods, I quickly continue: "Then we've already wasted a lot of time. Go to Paylor and show that to her." He runs off even before I finish off my sentence, so I make sure to yell after him, "Let her know where it's happening however you can!"

I simply say to the rest of the guys, "I could probably use some backup. And directions." With that, all of us race towards the detention area.

As I approach the facility, which is just a little shack, a soldier at the door calmly approaches me and says, "I'm sorry sir, but this area is stri—" Bogg's fist in his face interrupts his speech, and Holmes rushes in to restrain him further.

_Seriously, how did Pollux get so close and stay undetected?_

By the time I reach the door, screams can be heard from inside; this time, decidedly female. Not wanting to waste any more time I yank the door open and barge in.

It's clear that we are too late for the guy. He's still alive — barely — but crumpled and twitching on the ground. Blood is pooling from his crudely slashed throat as well as the various lacerations covering his body. The stench of urine's in the air, and I can see various severed appendages lying around.

Seeing the girl curled in the corner makes my stomach turn and blood boil even more. Her injuries are nowhere near the extent of her partner — simply rapidly-forming bruises covering her body — but that's not has me bothered. What has me bothered is the way her clothes have been roughly stripped away, as well as the guards quickly hitching-up their pants.

"What," I say through clenched teeth as I try to keep my voice even, "the fuck is this?"

"Hah! Looks like Mellark here has a bit of a potty mouth on him," says Yellow Vest. I guess he's the leader of this merry band of monsters.

I ignore his taunt. "Let me repeat myself: what is going on here?"

"District justice," he says with a shrug.

"Justice?" I look around incredulously as venom drips off my tongue. "You call this justice?"

"Yeah, I do. And I don't see how this is your concern."

"How about it being my concern?" Paylor says, as she steps into the room with Pollux and a full security detail. At that, the three sadists suddenly lose their casual disposition and stand at attention. The guard that Boggs punched in the face is added to the line-up.

As Paylor is questioning everybody, I kneel down next to the dying Peacekeeper — no, boy. Despite being so close to death, he seems to be vaguely aware of my presence. It's like the damn campfire all over again. I offer my hand towards his — the one that still has its fingers attached — and he takes a weak grasp of it. Looking up, I see Annie, who apparently followed us here, in the process of comforting the girl and helping cover her up. Before long, the grip in my hand loosens, and I look up to see eyes completely glazed over and blood ceasing to flow from his neck.

I carefully close the boy's eyes and stand up to see that Yellow Vest in the process of pleading his case to Paylor.

"Commander, we were just blowing off some steam. The bombings, the Capitol; it's got us all riled up. You know how it is…"

Judging from the way she's looking at the surviving Peacekeeper, I'm suspecting that last bit was a poor choice of words.

"Yes, I can clearly see how it is." She turns, to who I assume is her second-in-command, and says, "Pearson, have these four escorted out to the square, with each one given five lashes."

_Five lashes? The hell? Gale got way more than them combined! _

I can tell that the perps understand the amount to be negligible as well, judging from the slightest of smirks that the ringleader has. However, that disappears once Paylor adds:

"Also, assemble a firing squad that will be at the ready once the lashes have been dispensed."

At that, the color drains from their faces. As they are escorted out, one of them actually has the nerve to yell out, "You can't do this! You said it yourself that you need more people in the fight!"

Paylor's face hardens when she retorts, "I need soldiers, not rapists and sadists. Get them out of my sight."

"What about me? I didn't do anything," protests the one who was on guard duty.

"That's the thing," Paylor spits, looking as if she is ready to add another punch to the guys face. "You did nothing. You could have rushed to get help, and maybe this kid here would still be alive. Instead, you decided to cover for the monsters. And now, you are distancing yourself. Besides monsters, I can't abide cowards in this force."

~oOo~

The square is completely crowded as the convicted are tied to posts set up. I, as well as the rest of the group from Thirteen, am seated with Paylor and her higher-ups on a podium facing said posts. Annie and the Peacekeeper girl are also with us; Paylor gave her the option, which she understandably took, of watching her tormentors executed.

We watch as the last of the lashes are dispensed and the firing squad — consisting of four marksmen per target — comes in. Paylor decided to show some mercy and withhold the lashes from the guy who sat things out; he's still going to be shot though. As the squad members face their backs to us and prepare to fire, I muse on a bit of irony: the monsters, who so were completely high and mighty over those they were tormenting, are now practically gibbering in terror. And there's not a drop of sympathy to be had from me.

Once the execution is carried out, Paylor stands up to do a speech, with Castor and Pollux recording. She actually demanded that we air everything — the torture and attempted rape, the punishment handed out, and now this speech — even if we have to circumvent authority in the process. She said a message needs to be sent out.

Paylor doesn't waste time getting to the point: "I understand that there are times where we can't take prisoners. I even understand that there are times when we have to resort to extreme measures to get information. However, what just occurred was neither. It was monstrous sadism, pure and simple. It is the type of sadism that one expects from the Capitol and the Hunger Games. If we allow ourselves to stoop to that level, then we might as well lay down our arms. Because what good is a revolution when the replacements are no better than the tyrants before?

"Show the Capitol that we are better than that. Show the Capitol that we are better than them."

There is no applause to her speech; then again, it just wouldn't seem right. However, I can see people nodding their heads and murmuring in assent. If there was any doubt as to Paylor's capability as a leader, her actions today and well as this speech just dashed it to bits. And I feel my respect for her reaching significant highs.

As we all file out of the square, I can't help but stop Paylor to let her know something: "Commander, if we win this and you ever decide to become president, I want you to know that you will have my full and unconditional support."

All she does at that is chuckle and wave me off. I'm about to tell her that I'm serious about my statement, but stop when I see Boggs. He doesn't say anything, but the look of extreme alarm on his face conveys a simple statement that suddenly makes me really uneasy:

"_Don't let Coin hear you say that." _


	16. Dreams

Paylor is adamant that a message of restraint needs to be sent out, and she's aggravated that Plutarch doesn't wish to air the footage. Plutarch insists that sending it out would prove to be demoralizing to the Rebellion and would give the Capitol fodder to use. As they argue back and forth, Boggs decides to lay down a middle ground with the thought that while the message is important, showing the full torture scene would make Capitol-affiliated strongholds less likely to surrender and more likely to go out in a blaze of glory, which would incur serious casualties on our side. What's notable is that nobody is asking for Coin's opinion.

After some back and forth it's decided to air all of the execution and speech, as well as when Paylor and I walk in on the monsters. Special focus is put on me and Annie comforting the Peacekeepers. The actual torture and attempted rape is not going to be included. The part where we try to convince Command to let us air the video comes when we arrive in Thirteen, which should be fun.

Farewells are exchanged before we head off. Though after everybody else had left, and I'm about board the hovercraft, someone stops me. It's the girl Peacekeeper; Calpurnia I believe her name is. After the execution, Paylor decided that she was not a threat and decided to have her be a personal assistant.

She stays looking at the ground when she says, "I just wanted to thank you for being there for Julian when…"

I stop her before she goes any further, "You don't have to. It was just the right thing to do."

"But don't you hate us?"

I shake my head. "I hate what the Capitol represents. I hate those in charge of it. I hate its definition of 'entertainment'. However, I can't hate its people. I'm more than a bit frustrated with their lifestyle, but I still can't hate them."

"Oh… Still, thanks." as she turns to walk away, a thought comes to me.

"Hey wait for a moment!"

"Yes?"

"Did Julian have any personal possessions on him?"

"Well, yeah." She brings out a wallet and identification tags. "Since I was his closest acquaintance, they gave everything that was salvageable to me."

I take a look through the wallet, and find a series of pictures. The first is of Julian with his family; he's grinning as he hugs whom I assume to be his mother while younger children cling to his legs. As I look at his smiling face, the image of his vacant eyes and slashed throat briefly replace it in my mind.

After I manage to banish that thought away, _for now_, I simply ask Calpurnia, "Do you mind if I keep these?" Besides the picture, I gesture towards the identification tags.

There's some hesitation, but she doesn't rebuff me outright when asking, "What for?"

"As a reminder to keep my priorities straight and not lose myself in the upcoming storm."

As cheesy as that statement is, Calpurnia seems satisfied by my answer, handing over the tags while saying, "Alright then. Though can you do one favor?"

"What kind?" I ask, as I give her back the wallet.

"After this war is over, give those items to his family."

"What if I don't make it?"

"You'll make it. You seem to be a survivor."

There's something about that statement that strikes me as slightly hilarious, but I keep it to myself. "Alright, I promise I'll do so."

It should be a fun meeting… not. But a promise is a promise.

"Thanks, and have a safe trip." With that, she runs off to catch up with Paylor.

Once I get onto the hovercraft and it becomes airborne, I manage to take a quick shower and put on some pajamas — if Coin is expecting me look presentable when we land, she can suck it — before going to the observation room. As I sit myself down on a cushy sofa, fatigue takes a hold of me almost immediately. I realize that I haven't actually slept any since before we took off from Thirteen; just a couple power naps here and there. I guess with no reason to be active, my body's deciding to cash in its dues.

So I decide to allow myself to drift off into not-so-blissful unconsciousness for the trip, knowing full well what kind of dreams will await me.

* * *

I'm stumbling through the forest. A light flickers in the darkness. Before I can shout out a warning, a scream echoes out. I run in its direction only to stumble upon a dying campfire. Next to it, the tribute from District Eight is in her death throes. _Why can't I remember her name?_ I kneel next to her and clasp her hand in a comforting manner.

"No matter how many times you do this, she's still going to die." I look up towards the source of the voice to see Cato leaning up against a tree and examining his sword. When I glare at him, he lets out a big laugh.

"Really now, don't be like that. Yeah, I may have been the one who stuck her with my sword, but you had plenty of opportunities to stop me. Instead you were more concerned about maintaining your cover. You also could have saved _him_."

I look back down to see that the girl is now Julian, his formerly-white Peacekeeper outfit crimson with blood.

"You knew something was wrong the moment that video began, but you just had to watch when things got going really good. If you were just a bit more assertive, he probably would still be alive."

The mixture of seeing Julian's mutilated corpse and listening to Cato's words sends me running as fast as I can from the campfire. Cato calls after me, "Oh come on! You can't leave now. The fun's just beginning!"

I suddenly trip over a slightly-yielding object. Turns out that it's the girl from Five, now succumbing to the effects of nightlock poison. She spasms and arches her back as her fingers contort and eyes roll to the back of her head. Berry-stained spittle runs down her chin. I turn away only to face Allie from Six, her yellowed morphling-wracked skin contrasting with the crimson of the bite wounds she sustained in her attempt to save me…

I just keep running. There is light ahead, which means that I will be clear of this damn forest. When I reach the forest's edge, what greets me is field of still-burning bodies from the hospital. Most are crisp and blackened, their brittle bones crumbling in the flames.

I don't want to go through them, but the forest is no longer an option, with the vegetation becoming progressively thicker and the howling of wolves getting closer. So I trudge on through, attempting ignoring the wailing that raises up around me. No matter how careful I am, I wind up stepping on somebody, my feet crunching effortlessly through their bodies. Limbs, torsos, skulls; I crush them all.

Finally, I clear the field and reach a deserted square. It takes me a while to realize that this is Twelve's square. Seeing that there is nothing pursuing me right now, I allow myself collapse to the ground.

_Maybe I can finally get some rest. _

"Pathetic…"

_Nonononono… not her… not now…_

"Look at me… LOOK AT ME!" I look up at my mother, swinging above me from the gallows with my dad and brothers. While her head is tilted at an odd angle, she's still glaring upon me with that familiar sneer, derision dancing in her eyes. "Well, aren't you going to stand up when your mother addresses you? Or are you are as obstinate as you are weak?"

Despite every ounce of common sense screaming at me to do otherwise, I stand to face her.

"Hmm… Maybe you aren't so hopeless after all. Wait, what am I saying? Of course you're hopeless. See what you have wrought, you little shit? A wide swatch of death and destruction created in your wake." Dad looks like he wants to counter my mother's statements but can't seem to find his voice.

So she's free to continue on: "And the worse part of it is, you are too weak to do the killing yourself. All these deaths have been out of sheer incompetence on your part or simply because you were too cowardly to save the others in time."

"No…" I manage to weakly make out.

"Don't try to deny it! Everything about you reeks of weakness and deceit. You are just some afterbirth attempting to pass yourself off as huma—"

"SHUT UP!" a voice rings out, silencing my mother in the process. However, it's not my voice. An arm gently wraps around my shoulder as Cato soothingly speaks into my ear, "There there… Don't listen to her. She's just wanting to bring you down. We on the other hand." He spins me around to face him. "We're your real friends."

Cato's smiling at me; at least as much as a person missing most of his face can smile. Besides the lack of skin on said face, blood flows freely from an empty eye socket. He's also twirling an arrow in his free hand, with bits of eye, skull fragments, and brain matter flinging off of it. Behind him, all the deaths I'm responsible for stand together in some strange macabre show of solidarity.

"Besides," he chirps cheerfully, "when you think about it, you actually played an active role in _my_ demise. In any case, fret not; we're here for you. And we're the only ones who truly understand you.

"Of course," he huffs, "it's hard to help when you keep disappearing like the way you do. Something must be done about that."

Everybody advances, each person holding something different out for me to take from them: Eight hold out a sword, Julian has a knife, Five carries a handful of nightlock, Allie holds a syringe full of morphling, and those from the hospital have a canister of oil.

However, Cato impatiently waves them off. "No no no! What are you guys doing? This is Peeta Mellark we're talking about. He can't settle for something as generic as that. I know a better option." He proceeds to stick his finger into his eye socket and uses the blood to draw an X over my right eye; I can't seem to make myself move away for the whole process. Finally, he hands his arrow off to somebody behind me before turning me around to face that person.

"Katniss?"

She doesn't respond but simply notches the arrow. Around this time, minor quakes seem to be rippling through the environment. I try to move away, but Cato wraps his arms around my torso, keeping me fixed on the spot.

"Hey now, where are you going? This is the best way. Once she releases that arrow, you'll be free from all this pain and suffering."

Katniss pulls back the arrow and aims directly at the X. I swear I hear my name being called, and the quakes seem be getting stronger. However, Cato keeps me fixed on the spot.

"Katniss," I plead, "you don't need to do thi—"

"Shhh… Just let her to release that arrow. Then it shall be sweet release, and we can all finally be toget—"

"PEETA!"

* * *

The dreamscape shatters as I wake up to Gale looming over me and shaking my shoulders roughly. It's a fairly good thing that I recognized him as fast as I did and that my dream wasn't one of the violent ones. Otherwise things may have ended a bit… awkwardly.

"What the hell was that, Mellark?" he yells. With wide eyes and a drained complexion, he looks extremely shaken. _Did he also just use my first name earlier?_

"Just another dream," I mumble. The dreams are bad enough without people, much less Gale, fretting over me. "Also, don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Loom in that manner over a sleeping victor. It's liable to get you punched in the face… or worse," calmly interjects Annie, who's lounging on the sofa across from me.

Gale, who's already a bit on edge, seems slightly perturbed by her. "I'll keep that in mind. Annie actually told me to let you ride it out." He shakes his head. "But seriously, how could I? You were twitching and muttering very, very weird things; it was seriously freaky. Not to mention how clammy you look right now. My siblings have nightmares, but I've never seen them react that badly. So how the hell do you call that 'just another dream'?"

He's never seen me sleep before, has he? Makes sense, as we're not roommates since Gale's holed-up with the rest of his family, and I got a small spot to myself. Hell, I don't even stay there anymore. Now most of the time, I sleep on a couch in the library; I even have permission to do so.

I look over to Annie, who just shrugs. That shrug conveys a simple message: _"He's not a victor. No matter how much you try to explain it to him, at some level he won't understand."_

Maybe, but if this war is going to go the way I think it's going to go, I think the victors will start having some dreamtime company. Especially since Gale seems intent on having an active role in this conflict.

"Let's just say it's a 'gift' from the Arena," Annie remarks.

"That tells me nothing," Gale grumbles.

"Well, that's because it _is_ very hard to explain," I concede. "Tell you what: after this war is over, assuming that we both survive and you still have questions, I'll try my best to explain things to you."

It's clear that Gale finds our answers unsatisfactory, but instead of pressing the issue, he asks me something related: "So… how do you cope?"

Question's innocent enough. "Besides minimizing sleep?" I dryly quip. "Well, different victors cope in different ways. Some turn to drink or drugs. Others manage to find a constructive hobby. Some… just lose themselves." I pick my last words carefully. I think Annie knows I'm talking about her, but she makes no motion of acknowledgement.

"In my case, keeping busy while I'm awake helps serve as a distraction. At home, I'd bake; in Thirteen I focus on my job. However, probably the more effective measure I would take is painting out my dreams; painting somehow seems to transfer stuff out of my mind. Of course, since paint is considered a 'wasteful commodity' in Thirteen, I have to make do with sketching."

"I don't think I ever seen any of your paintings."

"Well, no offense, I don't think you really cared for me enough to concern yourself about them."

That earns a grimace from him. "None taken and you're right. I really didn't care what happened with you."

I dismiss his concerns with a wave. "I myself really didn't care that you didn't care. In any case… are you sure you want to hear the last coping method?"

His expression becomes quite guarded. "I think I have the general idea, but go ahead."

I'm not sure how to word this delicately without offending him, so I straight up say, "Sleeping with Kantiss."

A brief shadow crosses the hunter's face, and he scowls. Surprisingly, a hissy fit isn't thrown. "Go on…"

"During the Victory Tour and right before the Quell. Katniss and I slept together. It allowed us to comfort each other when one or the other was having a nightmare."

"Probably made it easier to spin the baby lie as well," Gale mutters.

I sigh, "Maybe, but I think you're misunderstanding me. When I say we slept together, I mean we were sleeping in the same bed."

The scowl fades as comprehension begins to dawn. "You mean you two didn't—"

"Nope."

"Not even—"

"The only physical contact we had was either the action of waking the other person up or the simple fact that we were next to each other while sleeping. Maybe there was a hug here and there."

He looks completely taken aback, as if he were seeing me in a new light. After what seems like several minutes of pondering, he replies, "Must have been hard."

"Hmm?"

"You spent the whole time sharing a bed, and things never went past the point of just sleeping. That must have been the ultimate cock-tease."

I should take offense at that. I mean, Katniss needed help, and I couldn't turn her down, especially since I had demons of my own. It was a mutually-beneficial action born out of friendship and shared struggles. Gale's comment insinuates that I was at some level conflicted due to wanting things to progress to another level. It should be insulting. It…

It makes me bark out a laugh. "Oh, you have _no_ idea…"

That sends both of us into another fit of laughter.

When I calm down a bit, I find it necessary to add, "Still, the fact that we were there for each other was more than better than nothing."

That sobers him up. "So you say Katniss also suffered nightmares?"

"Yeah… Her screaming and thrashing in her sleep was a common occurrence. But again," I add upon seeing Gale's expression, "we all find ways to cope. In her case, it's hunting."

He nods a bit, this time seeming to be satisfied. Though out of formality, I decide to ask, "Anything else on your mind?"

To my surprise, Gale suddenly looks very nervous, something I'm seriously not used to.

Finally, he asks hesitantly, "Do you, uh, have any of your sketches with you?"

Normally I would consider this a private matter. But, for some reason, Gale legitimately seems to want to connect. Maybe I'm the only peer he has left from Twelve, or he possibly sees me as some sort of connection to Katniss. Whatever the reason is, I admit that this new attention isn't exactly unwelcome; it's sure as hell better than the scowls he would throw at me between the Games. So I decide to entertain his thoughts by bringing out my sketchbook, which is portable enough to carry with me wherever I go.

"Now that you mention it, how much time do we have left?"

Gale checks the clock. "We still have about a couple hours to go." _Wow, I really wasn't out for that long, was I?_

"In which case, would you like to see me sketch out my most recent dream?"

He looks a bit taken aback by my offer but still nods. "Uh… sure. If you don't mind."

"Can I watch also?" Annie asks.

"Sure." I scoot to the middle of the sofa so that Gale and Annie can sit on either side of me. Once they appear to be settled in, I begin drawing.

I merge the whole first part of the dream onto one page: the girl from Eight turning into Julian, Cato laughing, Finch and Allie, the field of burning corpses, and my mother's sneering face. On the next page, Cato in front of all the tributes and people in Eight who died either indirectly by my hand or through sheer incompetence on my part. Finally, the last one is of Katniss pointing the arrow directly at my face.

To his credit, Gale doesn't say anything during the whole process, though I can feel him staring intently at my work as if it were game he's stalking. I can also feel Annie doing the same thing. Afterwards, I hand Gale the book so the both of them can take a look through as I move to the opposite sofa. He methodically flips through it, though I can see him wince and grow pale at certain points; no doubt at the drawings of Katniss dead in various ways.

Finally he hands the book over to Annie, who begins to look through it at a slower pace. When she gets done, I casually ask both of them, "So… what do guys think?"

Annie is unreadable as usual and simply says, "They're beautiful." Due to the way she calmly described torture to me earlier, I seriously hope she's just referring to my drawing skills.

"Yeah…" Gale, in contrast, seems quite a bit shaken and is looking constantly at his boots. "You, uh, really know how to pack in the… details."

_Well that's one way of saying it: details…_

"I noticed that, heh, you managed to include me in there as well." He's probably referring to the sketch of him crumpled in a bloodied heap in front of Thread, with the background consisting of my family swinging from the gallows while wolf mutts feed on Delly, the Undersees, and various other town residents. Finally, he sighs and concludes lamely, "I… I don't think I can comprehend what you go through."

"Honestly, I'm glad that you don't. It's not something I'd wish on any decent person."

He snorts. "A decent person? I resented and, I'll admit, thought some pretty shitty things about you just because we love the same girl. Though you _were_ pretty hard to hate whenever we talked in-person."

That makes me chuckle. "I think I can forgive you for that; I've forgiven others for far worse. And it's not like I myself wasn't jealous of you. The point is that you provided for your family and Katniss', and you just sat through my sob story. I don't see how that doesn't qualify you as a decent person. I bit hotheaded and lacking in charm," I cheerfully rib, which elicits another snort, "but still decent, if not more."

"Dammit Pe—Mellark, keep that up, and I may actually start liking you." He turns his head a bit towards Annie. "And you go through the same thing? The dreams, I mean."

She shrugs. "Well, I can't draw, and different people and environments are involved. But, more or less, yes."

Gale doesn't say anything for a while, but when he finally looks up I can finally see a bit of the hunter I'm so familiar with. In other words: he's pissed. Just as well; after a while, depressed Gale stops being novel and starts being pretty unnerving.

Since there's still an hour left, I decide to settle back into the sofa. As I let sleep take me again, I realize something: sharing those pictures with those two seemed to remove a significant burden. Gale may not understand what goes through a victor's mind, but that did not stop him from trying. Also, Annie may have a couple screws loose, but it doesn't change the fact that we have a lot in common.

In the end, I think I can definitely count them both as my friends.

When I slip back under, there are no dreams waiting for me.


	17. Rude Awakening

Of course it was all too good to last.

My dreamless bliss is brought to a cold, screeching halt by a cascade of ice water on my face.

"Gah!" There is much sputtering, and some flailing around, as I attempt to regain my bearings.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead."

I push my hair back and turn to glare towards the rapidly-clarifying source of the statement. "What the hell was that for, Haymitch?"

He's holding a pitcher in his hands and a look of extreme smug satisfaction on his face. "I've always wanted to do that. Pretty karmic if you ask me."

"It wasn't even me who woke you up in that manner; it was Ka—"

"Don't care."

I glare at him a bit more before taking off my soaking-wet shit and using the dry portion to remove the water from my face and hair. "Fine. Anyways, I take it you're telling me to get ready for our landing so we can meet our esteemed leader."

A chuckle emanates from him. "Yeah, I think we're past that point now…"

Before I can ask what he means by that, I take a look at my surroundings and realize one thing: I'm in my room in Thirteen, not on the hovercraft. Which means that I probably slept through the welcoming reception. _Crap._

Haymitch seems to notice my little realization and grins. "Catch on quickly don't you?"

I ignore that jab. "How long was I out?" Something else is niggling away at me, but I can't seem to put my finger on it.

"Oh, I'd say about six…"

"Huh, that's a bit more than usu—"

"-teen hours."

"WHAT? Why didn't you wake me earlier?"

"Believe me, we tried. Never seen any victor sleep so soundly; you were deader to the world than those sacks of flour you loved carrying. I was going to wake you this way earlier but Annie would have none of it; she said you deserved your rest."

"I'm in trouble, aren't I."

"Surprisingly, no. I can't say that Coin's happy, but she was impressed enough with your performance back in Eight that it was decided that you be given a bit of leeway." _Whew…_ "Though you _are_ expected to report to Command ASAP. Which is why I woke you; I suspect that sixteen hours is enough time, and the sooner you report in, the better. You don't want to keep the woman waiting."

"Fair enough," I sigh. At least I feel fairly invigorated now.

I'm about to tell Haymitch to scram, so that I can get dressed, when I finally figure out the thought that has been eating away at me.

"Haymitch…"

"Yeah?"

"How did I get here?"

At my query, his content grin widens into a smile. It isn't a warm smile either, but one that is mischievously knowing. It's a smile that revels in trouble. I'm beginning to suspect that I won't like the answer.

"I thought you'd never ask…

"I actually wanted to leave you in the hovercraft when they parked it. It'd probably be pretty fucking hilarious to see you to wake up in a dark and locked-up vehicle." Haymitch sighs. "But, alas, there were dissenting opinions from the others. So we had to forgo that idea."

"I'm sure it was such a great loss," I respond tartly.

He nods, selectively oblivious to my sarcasm. "It was indeed. So I bet you're curious as to _how_ you got here."

I don't like that tone, and now I really know that I won't like the answer. _Okay, you don't need to know. Don't encourage him._ "A bit, but it's no big de—"

"How about this then? You throw out a name, and I'll tell you whether you're correct or not."

It's clear he's not going to let up, so I decide to play along for a bit. _Maybe he'll just get tired and go away._ "Uh, Boggs?"

"Had to report to Coin. Same goes for all the other soldiers and higher-ups."

"Pollux?"

"Film crew was also too busy going over things with Plutarch."

_This is bad. This is real bad._ "Chaff. There was no reason for him to report to anybody, and he's more than strong enough carry me with no problem."

"Well you're right about that." I breathe a sigh of relief. _Okay, so it wasn't—_"He just didn't want to carry you. In fact, he agreed with me that we should have left you in the hovercraft."

_Dammit._

"Annie?" By now, I can't keep the desperation from creeping in my voice. I don't care who brought me here. It could be anybody. Anybody but _him_.

Haymitch just looks at me in a deadpan manner that asks, _"Really?"_

"I, uh, sleepwalked."

He's about to respond but pauses a bit to consider my answer before continuing. "Actually that would be pretty impressive, but wrong again."

"Welp," I say, throwing up my hands in the process, "guess we'll never know then."

"You're forgetting somebody."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes you are…" he trills in a sing-song manner.

I shake my head furiously, as if it would banish my mentor away. "No." _Hell no. Just, no…_

"Yes." With that, he gleefully presses a couple buttons on my room's information console, which projects an image.

It is of Gale carrying me out of the hovercraft, with me draped limply across his shoulders. I can tell he's trying to salvage some dignity by attempting an expression of aloof stoicism, but it simply comes out looking like a cross between a bemused scowl and exasperated grimace. As Haymitch suggested, I look completely dead to the world, with my jaw slackly hanging open. Worse, one can easily see the line of drool dribbling out of the corner of my mouth, down my chin… and down Gale's arm.

I know that Gale and I put our past behind us, and I went so far as to label him a friend on the ride back, but this is seriously pushing things. _What does he think of me right now?_

As I gaze in mortification, another horrid bout of realization takes a hold of me. "How were you able to bring this up on the _public_ console?"

I've not seen Haymitch be this cheerful since… ever. "Unfortunately I can't take credit. Castor took the picture, and then Chaff got this great idea. So the two of them went to Beetee, and in no time at all…"

My face is cradled in my hands. "Please don't tell me…"

"Nah, I think I will. I doubt that there's a single person in Thirteen who isn't familiar with that image. You two are projected _all_ over the hallways and in the dining hall." He turns to walk out, but decides to stop at the door to drop off one last parting shot: "Personally, I think it livens the place up quite a bit." With that he leaves, his fading laughs being heard through the closed door.

~oOo~

Sure enough, there's not a single place in Thirteen that lacks the damn photo. When I get to Command, some there actually have the gall to snicker, but I ignore them.

The visit with Coin goes about as well as expected. She congratulates me on my performance, though was a bit leery of my impromptu decision-making; I really don't know how to respond to that, so I just let her talk.

Apparently, the propo sent out succeeded in reinvigorating the districts. Already, positive results are coming in from the majority of the districts in the wake of the broadcast. This convinces Coin to schedule further field visits. I'm also informed that Gale's performance was a big hit as well, and that he now has a position in Command, though he's currently allowed recuperation.

Less amicable are our exchanges about the medical conditions in the districts. Coin argues that they can't spare expensive equipment all the time. I counter that more people are going to end up dying from sickness than from combat, which will put a dent in our ability to fight. Finally there is a concession to send some stuff out to improve sanitation and logistics; however, medicine and such is still held back. Considering the conditions I've observed firsthand, it's better than nothing.

Just as nasty is the debate to air Paylor's message. After a long and bitter argument back and forth, Coin finally approves the broadcast of message edited to Bogg's compromise.

While I do feel a strong sense of accomplishment by winning — or at least reaching a compromise — I have a feeling that each victory I have in Command makes me more and more disliked by the president. Feeling's mutual.

~oOo~

After getting checked up in the medical ward, I wait until _Reflection_ period to go to the Hawthorne's. It's the best way that I can corner Gale so that I can talk to him; it seems that he's been avoiding me

Sure enough, he's the one who answers the door. Just as predictably, he immediately slams it shut, but not before giving me a harsh scowl. I sigh. _So much for friendship… _

I'm about to leave when I hear some muffled arguing, followed by Hazelle opening the door; her reception is considerably warmer.

"Hello Peeta. Sorry about Gale's behavior." She throws a scowl behind her; it's as if the Seam hones the practice of scowling into an art form. "He's just a bit flustered over the recent… publicity you two have been getting."

That earns a grimace from me. "Don't worry, Ms. Hawthorne; I understand completely. I can always come back another time."

She scoffs at that and beckons me inside. "Nonsense. Come on in." Not wishing to get into some debate, I dutifully comply with her wishes, despite what my surly compatriot may wish.

I'm barely inside when someone squeals out, "Peeta!" and, within a few seconds, a five-year-old bundle of energy slams into me, nearly knocking me over in the process.

"Posy!" I laugh as I regain my balance and proceed to pick her up. "Look at you; someone's been growing up fast and strong."

Sure enough, the consistent Thirteen diet means that she no longer has the skinny Seam look but actually a bit of that chubbiness that should be inherent in kids her age. Rory and Vick, who are seated on a couch and waving at me, also seem to be taking to their increased food supply quite well. Though in their case, it's manifesting itself in robustness; Rory's actually looking like he's put on some significant muscle mass. By now, the Hawthornes look healthier than many Town residents.

As I carry Posy around, I nod towards Gale, who's seated at a table; he begrudgingly returns the nod with that scowl still on his face. _This may take a while._

I turn to Hazelle, "So how's Beth doing?" By the time I got re-reaped, a name still had not been given for my newborn niece, and the Hawthorne's had no idea what her name was. So it was agreed between us that we name her after her late mother.

"She's doing fine. Sleeping right now, and it probably won't be for another hour before she wakes up." Looking at my incredulous face — baby sleep schedules, or lack thereof, are still a mystery to me — Hazelle gives me a small conspiratorial smile. "After four kids, one get's a good idea of what to predict in a baby."

"Peeeetaaa…" Posy tugs at my hair, earning a sharp reprimand from her mother. "Do you want to see what I'm making for show-and-tell tomorrow?"

"Sure," I put her down, and she proceeds to grab my hand and drag me over to the middle of the room, where sheets of paper and crayons lay strewn all over the floor.

"I'm making pictures!" she chirps happily, holding up two colorful drawings for me to see. "Here's Gale with his bow. And here's you with your fire wings."

For someone her age, she's actually pretty talented. "These are quite good. In a few years, I bet you'll be an awesome artist."

"Thank you." Posy blushes and giggles as she grabs a third sheet. "And this one is you and Gale."

My smile freezes on my rapidly-draining face as I gaze at her work-in-progress; sure enough, it's me being carried out. I glace over to see that my counterpart's gone pale as well.

"It's like the old fairy tales," she continues, completely oblivious. "Gale's the prince, and you're Sleeping Beauty."

_For all that's good and just in this world…_

Gale slams his head down on the table — repeatedly — while Rory and Vick chortle from their spot and Hazelle clasps her hand over her mouth; it looks suspiciously like she's stifling a laugh.

_Kill me now._

"Posy," I say as diplomatically as possible, "how about this picture be our little secret."

A small frown appears on her face. "You don't like it?"

"Oh, it's very… well done. But aren't you planning on drawing the rest of your family?"

"Yeah."

"You probably want to explain your wonderful pictures, right?" She nods. "Well, you don't want to take up too much time because I'm sure other kids have things of their own to share. Taking their time wouldn't be fair."

"I guess not."

"Well, if you just do three instead of four, you can explain all you want. You already have these two great drawings of me and Gale in action; no need to repeat things with us two together. Instead have the third drawing be your family. Make sense?"

Posy perks up at that logic. "Yeah!"

_Crisis averted._

I look back at Gale to see that he's actually motioning me to sit at the table. So, after wishing Posy luck, I walk over and pull up a seat opposite from him.

"Nice save. Never in my life have I been more thankful for your bullshitting skills," he mutters in a tone that the other kids can't hear.

"Thanks. Imagine what would happen if it went public, especially with that little analogy of hers." Both of us shudder at the implication.

"So you wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Yeah. Look, I'm sorry about pretty much being the cause for this whole debacle. And for drooling on you."

Gale sighs. "Well, it's not like this is going to your advantage either. So, uh… ss-sor…" He frowns and pauses a bit before attempting to continue. _Sounds like somebody's having trouble spitting out a certain word._ "Um, sor—"

I stop him before he embarrasses himself further. "You don't have to say anything; I understand, and it's all cool. Truce?" I hold out a hand.

He lets out a long breath of relief, before taking it. "Sure."

We spend some time just sitting there, before I say, "So I hear that Command has taken quite a liking to you."

"I guess you could say that…" He has quite a bit of a sour look on him when the subject is mentioned, which surprises me.

"What, you're not happy? I thought you wanted to contribute directly to the Rebellion."

"Yeah, to fight. But they want me to do propos. Propos!" By now, Gale actually looks fairly distressed. "You of all people should know that talking in front of crowds isn't my strong suit."

"That speech you did at the hospital was pretty good."

"I don't even know where that came from!" he all but screams, any semblance of decorum being flung to the wind. His brothers chortle a bit more over that reaction, though they are silenced pretty quickly by a stern look from Hazelle.

Gale does have a point. It's not like every propo is going to be an action scene, and people can only take so many broody scowls. However, I have an idea: "What if I coach you?"

My suggestion seems to take him by surprise. "What?"

"You heard me; I help coach you in looking good for the propos. Learn to say the right things to an audience, react to the cameras in a comfortable manner, and so on…"

"You'd really help me?" He looks slightly suspicious of the offer, which is just ridiculous.

"Well, we _are_ in this together. You looking good makes me look good." He still seems unconvinced, so I add with a sigh, "Think of it initially as a way of repaying you for tolerating my-heavy-drooling-self on your shoulders. Afterwards, we could probably work something out."

Gale's eye's narrow at my rationale. He knows I'm purposefully invoking the Seam's philosophy of unpaid debts, and the idea of a townie being so familiar with it — not to mention utilizing it in an advantageous manner — probably rubs him the wrong way. Still, he finally nods his head and simply says, "Deal."

Once we agree on details and such, I say my farewells and move to head out. But Posy waylays me before I reach the door.

"Here Peeta." She holds out the drawing of me and Gale.

"It's… for me?" _Of all the drawings she gives to me, it's that one? _

"I'm not showing it tomorrow. So I give it to you."

_Dammit_. I can't very well refuse such a gift without coming across like a total ass. "Well, thank you for this wonderful present. I'll be sure to take good care of it." _And keep it well out of sight._

When I finally get back to the library — after showering and changing into something more comfortable than those horrible grey uniforms — I take the neatly-folded drawing out of my pocket.

While I have a strong urge to put this picture somewhere hidden and unreachable, there is the fact that Posy seemed to have made this with a lot of sincere love. It just feels wrong to purposely put it someplace to be forgotten.

Not to mention that, despite the embarrassing circumstances, there is the simple fact that the image does showcase a helping hand from someone who probably wouldn't have thought twice about leaving me behind less than a year ago. I never did ask him why he offered to carry me out, when he could have easily sided with Haymitch and Chaff.

So instead of storing the picture away, I trust in the fact that nobody else visits this place and carefully tack the thing to the end of a bookshelf before calling it a night.


	18. Keeping Busy

"No no no! Are you purposely trying to get everybody to hate you?"

From his expression and the small growl coming from him, it's pretty obvious that I pushed Gale a bit too far with my statement. So I manage to use that split-second to prepare right before he launches himself at me.

I don't think my current pupil will need to worry about paying me back for helping him out; our mutual frustration probably eliminates what debt there is. There are times where it gets to the point where he actually looks like he's ready to use me as a squishy arrow-storage unit; however, I'm usually too busy imagining his neck as an equally-squishy gripper to test my hand strength.

Gale's an earnest learner; really, he is. However, his curmudgeonly disposition is practically ingrained within his very being, making it absurdly difficult to dislodge or at least mask in a believable manner. And whenever I show the slightest amount of frustration, he takes offense which sours his disposition further, which then frustrates me further, and so on… _This must have been how Haymitch and Katniss felt during the pre-interview training. _

In any case, we tend to get the frustration out of our system by resorting to impromptu wrestling matches. Like right now.

Interestingly enough, after all the times we've gone at it, I've only had a marginal number of wins against him. Despite being taller, Gale isn't as comprehensively muscled as me, nor does he have the years of practice as both a wrestler and tribute. However, what he lacks in strength and technique, he makes up for in a willingness to fight dirty. Really dirty.

At the very least, we did set down some ground rules; namely no attacking of the face. If Command saw bruises on us, we'd be pretty screwed.

This time, while Gale does score another nut shot against me, I manage to wrap an arm around his neck. With him, a chokehold pretty much ensures victory for me every single time; in contrast, his are relatively — "relatively" being a key word — easy to break out of. Sure enough, he slaps the ground in a gesture of submission.

After we break apart and I lay on the ground, nursing Peeta Jr. and his buddies back to health in the process, I manage to gasp out to Gale, "Better. But you're still leaving yourself too open. Timing and utilization of defensive posture is key; if you do nothing but attempt offensive moves, you'll drain yourself out."

He just nods as he lies on his back and recovers. Once he gets his breath back, he says, "It'd be much easier if you weren't so damn heavy."

I roll my eyes at that. "You know you won't have the luxury picking a weight class on the battlefield. And if you do things right, you can actually use someone's own weight and movements against them."

Besides serving as a good stress valve, the matches also help both keep me on my toes and Gale learn some technique in case things come down to close combat. Because, at this point, while Gale's a great shot with his bow and good and making snares, he'd be pretty be pretty screwed if someone manages to close the distance; apparently Thirteen's combat training has surprisingly little emphasis on hand-to-hand. So hopefully, if the situation arises, he'll be prepared.

Gale recovers first and gets up to offer me a hand. Though before I can take it, another one of those damn hummingbirds decides to come over and take a few more strands of my hair, which admittedly earns some flailing as I try to fend them off. Seriously, why don't they mess with anybody else?

As Gale's too busy laughing at my reaction to help me, I just give him a scowl and get myself up. Ever since Gale's promotion — he even got a communicuff, which he has an almost fetish-like affection for — he's been sent to work with Beetee to help develop various weapons. So most of our "PR sessions" take place in the hummingbird room.

"So anything else for today, Mellark?" Gale asks. Just like that, there is no sign of the frustration we had been exhibiting with each other just a couple of minutes ago.

"Nah… I think we are done for now. Although, at the very least, humor me about what you learned this past session."

To his credit Gale shows that he actually retains all the lessons I teach him; it's applying those lessons that's the tricky part. He'll probably practice later in front of the film crew like usual to get an unbiased critique.

Hopefully by the next time we get out into the field, he'll be prepared and actually somewhat likeable.

~oOo~

The next several weeks generally go in a blur.

If there's one good thing that could be said about the photo taken of me and Gale, it's that the folks in Thirteen find me way more approachable as just another boy instead of some weird celebrity outsider. Who knew?

To my surprise, Beetee's not displeased with me blowing my cane up on the first day out. In fact, he's ecstatic to see the thing work and watches Pollux's footage to take notes on the results. Turns out that he's constantly tweaking designs, and the more chances he has to see his stuff in action, the better. Same goes for my coat; he's constantly trying to tweak the synthetic flames to see if he can improve the display and make them more efficient.

Annie's actually settling in quite nicely, though I keep some tabs on her to make sure she's still doing alright. The only issue she seems to be having is that she misses the sun. Many times, she sits with us during the propo lessons in the hummingbird house; Gale and I keep her company, and she simply likes the little beasts. In a morbid way, her being near Finnick as he was tortured meant that she got a lot of information about various Capitol individuals that could possibly be used in the future, so she is currently cooperating with Command in giving that information. What she refuses to divulge are the various torture techniques utilized in her presence; while Command is not happy about her reluctance, her "mental fragility" thankfully prevents them from pressuring the issue.

One disturbing piece of news probably related to Finnick's torture is the fact that apparently many pro-Rebellion individuals in the Capitol have been turning up dead due to various "accidents" or "mysterious causes". Plutarch has been ordering any of the survivors to go underground or leave if they can. The only silver lining of this is that it is causing Command to rethink their "we're not rescuing the captured victors" due to the increased hazard of someone with as much information as Finnick being kept in the wrong hands.

While I've not had any combat training, I've taken to doing research on the strategic element of warfare on top of the usual research about the districts. One book that I found interesting is a pre-Cataclysm piece by some guy named Clausewitz; at lot importance seems to be put on the motivation of participants in a conflict and how to channel that motivation. This research helps when I sit in on the military meetings in Command. I'm not required to attend and it's really not like I'm contributing to policy, even if I do offer a thought here and there. However, I feel that it helps me to know what role we are taking in this war and how we are doing so. In any case, Coin occasionally gives me some strange glances during the meeting but says nothing of it.

Over the period of time, we do several more field propos. The positive reaction gained from the footage gained in Eight pretty much not only showed Command the usefulness of doing the propos in an unstaged environment, it also solidified my usefulness in the eyes of Coin. Haymitch tells me that it was a good thing that I decided to ask permission to initiate rescue mission instead of going at it by myself; doing so would have likely made her consider me an unpredictable liability. He also tells me that had I just ignored instead of reasoning with him, he may have decided to implant an irremovable chip that would allow him to speak in my head at will; the very thought of Haymitch in my head 24/7 is something I really don't want to comprehend.

Despite the positive feedback from the Eight propo shoot, Command decides that it's better to do something more low-risk. So it is decided that we get sent to rebel-pacified strongholds such as Six, Seven, and Nine. Other than Eight, the other districts are deemed too risky to visit. Two and Twelve are completely out of the question as of this point, as are Three and Eleven due to the disproportionate Peacekeeper presence even with the latter two still in the fight. Five and Ten are fairly pacified, but require going through the off-limits districts to get to them. Four and, surprisingly, One are also swinging in the rebellion's favor, but the proximity to the Capitol and Two means that there are still frequent incursions by Capitol forces.

In general, the visits go quite well despite, or perhaps because of, the fact that they fall on the uneventful side. By the time we have our first foray out into the field since Eight, the lessons I've been giving Gale have started to sink in, and he actually looks quite personable and motivational on camera. In general, I tend to spend most of my time with the civilian populace and Gale with the soldiers; however, both of us find time to talk to the respective groups. One thing that always gets the audience, especially the kids, going is setting myself on fire; fortunately with Beetee's tweaks, I can adjust things so that the coat's not completely drained in the middle of a propo shoot and I'm left sweltering in the late summer day.

Also, due to the positive reception of the treats I brought to Eight, Coin actually authorizes resources to be set aside so that I could arrange for a longer quantity of baked goods to be produced. What has helped in the increased production has been Thirteen's kitchen workers; they learn my recipes pretty quickly — doesn't hurt that the items baked tend to be on the simpler side — and are pretty enthusiastic about baking something different than the usual Thirteen fare. With an increased amount of goods produced, I can give treats to not only the children but also the soldiers, many of whom probably haven't been able to eat such things even in peacetime. The look on everybody's faces, when given the treats, make the increased workload and decreased amount of sleep completely worth it.

One thing that concerns me though is that we haven't heard any Capitol broadcasts lately. In fact, Katniss in Twelve was the latest broadcast. One would think that, with all the propos we've been making, Snow would be using Katniss as much as possible to counter us. But they have been noticeably silent. Some in Command dismiss it as them not being able to find something to say without looking like fools. However, others, including me, have a feeling that they are simply gearing up and waiting for an opening so they can release something. Something big.

And I don't like this feeling one bit.


	19. Capitol's Counter

The nagging feeling is justified when a special broadcast shows up just a couple days after our last field assignment.

After the Capitol seal fades away, Caesar appears as he usually does for a propo. However, to my great surprise, he is not projecting the usual vibe of cheerful showmanship. In fact, if anything, he looks fairly distressed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I have some considerably tragic news from District One. Reports have come in that… Well…" The fact that Caesar Flickerman, of all people, is stumbling to say something actually disturbs me quite a bit. Finally, he just takes a deep breath and says, "I-I believe it is easier for me to just show you all what happened instead of explaining. The footage was taken from a group of rebels that out Peacekeepers managed to eliminate. If only those rebels were taken out sooner…"

* * *

I remember us passing by the Victors' Village in One during the Victory Tour. As befitting a Career district that not only had a cozy relationship with the Capitol but also a vocation based on luxury items, all the mansions there were clearly several magnitudes more opulent than what we had in Twelve.

Except this time, the only thing that's on my mind is how all the homes are ablaze. Armed individuals walk around the wide boulevard, which is littered with a multitude of bodies — some of them distressingly small. A figure can be seen attempting to flee, only to be gunned down.

Besides the gunmen, there seems to be only one person left alive in the area. The middle-aged woman is kneeling next to the bodies of a man and several young kids. As the crew gets closer, it's clear that she's sobbing and cradling a small infant close to her; even from this angle, a bloody ragged hole can be seen on the baby's chest.

"Really, Indigo," one of the gunmen casually says as he walks up next to her, "are you so surprised that this is the result of you victors rebuffing our offers to join the Rebellion? Did you really think that your status would ensure some kind of protection? Well, not so high-and-mighty anymore, are you."

When there is no response, the gunman adds, "If you're still interested, I'm sure we'll be willing to overlook that slight. What do you say?"

As Indigo looks up at the gunmen, grief and rage can plainly be seen on her tearstained face. "To hell with you…" she chokes out. "AND TO HELL WITH YOUR RE—"

Indigo is silenced by a bullet splitting her head in two, and she slumps forward to join the rest of the bodies.

The gunman just shrugs. "Pity…"

* * *

Caesar turns away from the screen, obviously disgusted, and I can see considerable anger shining through his showman veneer. I wouldn't be surprised if he had personally interviewed every one of those victors. It seems strange to empathize with someone who was so complicit in the Games, but Caesar honestly seemed like he wanted to help all of us, as both tributes and victors, through our interviews.

"Peeta," he says, surprising me with such a direct address, "despite us being on opposite sides, I feel that I know you well enough to know that you will not stand for this kind of atrocity. If you have as much influence as I think you do, please try your best to prevent something like this from happening again."

As he moves onto other things occurring around Panem, I turn to fix a glare at Coin. "Explain," I shakily breathe out through clenched teeth. From the corner of my eyes, I can see that Haymitch is just as pissed, though he remains silent.

Coin is unruffled and doesn't even bother denying what we just saw on screen. "The victors in District One refused to join the Rebellion's cause. Having them still operational could risk them functioning as propagandists and even soldiers for the Capitol. Frankly, I don't understand what you are so upset about; last I remember, the individuals from that district have always been adversaries to you."

Yes, they were. But in the end, it's clear that the Careers were just as much victims of the Capitol as the rest of us; the last Quell made that point considerably clearer. People who have not gone through the Games are unlikely to comprehend, but once one becomes a victor, a bond forms with the rest of them. Even as we were trying to kill each other — not to mention the constant bickering and insults lobbed at one another — we still felt traces of the camaraderie… well, except for Brutus; he was just an asshole. Maybe it just means that we are completely batshit insane, but the point remains: an attack on a victor is an attack on all.

"Besides," she continues, "it's not like we are the only ones doing such a thing. For example, the rest of the District Four's victors were killed off by Peacekeepers due to them interfering with Cresta's arrest by the Capitol."

"Doesn't make it less wrong! And if victors were hesitant to join us then, what makes you think they'll jump on the rebel wagon now?"

From Coin's expression, it's clear that she doesn't even care, and she dares me to challenge her further. As angry as I am, I don't take the bait but, instead, focus back on the broadcast.

"… And now, President Snow would like to make a special announcement."

The camera shifts from Caesar to Snow, who's situated quite smugly at his podium.

"Thank you, Mr. Flickerman for that introduction. And tragic news indeed." _I'm sure you're losing tons of sleep over the victors' deaths…_ "I believe it was Mr. Hawthorne who announce the desire for the rebels to drag everybody down with them. That begs the question: where would that leave us?

"Chaos. That's where. These rebels, in their quest to throw this nation into anarchy, are practically salting the earth wherever they go. The population of this nation is precarious enough as it is; this war that the rebels are so insistent on pushing threatens to damage that to the point of no return.

"Let's say that they do manage to be successful enough to take the country. What kind of nation will this District Thirteen-led — oh, you didn't expect it to be something led by all the districts, did you? In any case, what kind of nation will we have? If the footage is any indication, it will not be anything as egalitarian as what the wide-eye idealists like to imagine.

"But enough of that. I'm sure you all would like to see a friendlier face. So without further ado, let's welcome Katniss Everdeen."

My heart flies to my throat as Katniss walks up to the stage. It seems almost forever since I last saw her, and I have been trying not to think too much about her lest I get distracted from my duties; the irony of that with my ultimate goal is not lost on me. Fortunately, it seems that Annie was right in that Katniss has not been mistreated while in captivity. In fact, despite the unhappy look on her face, she looks even healthier than I have ever seen her before. That, plus the sleek black dress she has on, makes her look stunning. I can tell that Gale thinks the same, judging from that sharp intake of breath he just took.

She walks up to Caesar, and they hug warmly, before she moves to settle in on the provided chair near Snow's podium.

"Katniss, it is a pleasure of you to join us today," Snow says. _Like she has a choice in the matter. And since when was Snow on a first-name-basis with her? _

"Thank you Mr. President for allowing me to be here," she responds politely.

"No doubt you have heard of the unfortunate news in District One."

"Yes, and it saddens and angers me greatly." There is significant sincerity in Katniss' voice. "That may be surprising to some, considering who I… eliminated in the Arena. However, victors are victors, and I can't help but feel some sort of kinship to them."

I get fairly nervous when Katniss talks about feeling empathy for other victors, considering the trouble it got us in during the Quell interviews. However, Snow lets her continue as usual. I guess we are well past the point where voicing such thoughts matters anymore.

"Is there anything you would like to comment about the war?" Snow asks.

She scowls a bit before simply saying, "No more than what you already said. Thirteen has so far done nothing to make me change my opinion about them being a bunch of opportunists."

"Okay then. In which case, I have nothing more to add other than the hope that order will finally prevail over chaos. But before we go, do you have any parting words, Katniss?"

As the camera focuses closer on Katniss, I finally notice that this is not just her being in a usual unhappy funk. Something seems to have her on edge.

"Yes, I do." She takes a deep breath before suddenly blurting out, "Peeta, the Capitol's going to bomb Thir—"

"Cut the broadcast!" Snow barks. Almost immediately, the Capitol seal pops back up.

And an increasing feeling of dread, which has nothing to do with any possible bombing, settles in my stomach.

* * *

***The Capitol: Now***

_That went better than expected. _

As he gets up to leave, Flickerman shoots me a dirty look but wisely keeps his mouth shut. He no doubt knows about the deaths of the other victors throughout Panem. The sentimental fool definitely gets too attached. If he weren't so good at his job, I would have replaced him years ago.

I finally turn to smile at my special guest, who holds a look of dread, along with just the slightest trace of triumph, on her face.

"Come now Katniss, don't look so dour. You performed marvelously."

Both dread and triumph get replaced by confusion. "I… did?"

"Yes indeed. Though I would like to know: which one of the guards did you overhear talking about the bombing?"

She doesn't even hesitate when she says, "The short curly-haired one. Basil, I believe his name was."

_Someone seems a bit eager._ And I'm pretty sure I know where that eagerness comes from. It doesn't matter as it's clear that she's telling the truth. So everybody important wins; Katniss gets rid of someone she hates and manages to warn her beloved in the process, I manage to root out an incompetent employee, and the right information has just been sent out, which should bait Thirteen in the right manner.

Everything is moving along quite nicely.

"Let's get you ready for the next step, shall we?"


	20. Rescues and Announcements

Command goes wild for just a couple seconds before Coin calls for order. Everything becomes a blur after that; one moment I'm staring at the blank screen in Command, the next, I'm being quickly ushered down to the lower levels with the rest of Thirteen's populace. It isn't long after I get settled in with the Hawthornes, minus Gale who goes with the rest of the military personnel, and Annie when the first bombs hit. Despite how far down we are, each hit is a rumble of thunder overhead that shakes the very foundations of the complex and causes people to huddle closer together.

After the first wave appears to have passed, Coin issues an announcement recognizing Katniss for her efforts to warn us. _So it took you guys this long to see that she was not a traitor, huh?_ There is not even an apology for their previous behavior against her or the simple fact that she was not rescued.

It takes every fiber of my being not to be crippled by the anxiety that threatens to overwhelm me. All this time, I have kept Katniss at the back of my head through keeping myself busy and helping the war effort. Now, this announcement brings every single repressed thought up to the forefront, and there is nothing I can do to distract myself away from it. The library's currently off-limits, and I left my sketchbook back there. Also, even if the kitchen was accessible, I'm only allowed to work right before a propo. So the best I can do is to help Hazelle with the kids, or go around the corridors to give comforting words to the huddled masses. All the while, thoughts gnaw away at me.

_Snow wouldn't dare hurt Katniss. Would he? She's still a powerful symbol. Can't risk creating a martyr. So she's safe… But he doesn't have to kill her. No he doesn't. Like Annie says, there are plenty of techniques out there that don't leave marks. No, stop it; can't afford to think things like that. But what if he's doing something to her right no— Stop it. But there— STOP IT! She's fine! No, she isn't! We don't know that! We need to get here out of there. We need to get her out of there! But it's not like we can do anything right now. So just keep busy and trust that she'll be alright. She'll be alright… Katniss, please be alright…_

The mixture of the broadcast, plus the current threat of the bombs, also appears to have taken a toll on Annie as well. I don't blame her; I myself wonder whether Snow will take things out on Finnick and Johanna. However, the way Annie passes the time is probably very far from healthy.

All she does is sit in the corner and mutter various step-by-step procedures: "… Make sure that subject is secured at twenty-degree incline with feet elevated. Place cloth over subject's face. Gradually, but consistently, use spigot pour water over cloth from a height between one-to-two feet. Allow for twenty-to-forty seconds before turning off water and removing cloth. Subject is allowed to three-to-four breaths. Repeat process…" If she's not sounding like a do-it-yourself torture manual, she's listing off various body parts and their pain thresholds.

I try my best to console her, but she's completely withdrawn. It doesn't help that I have to help keep the kids away whenever she goes into one of her rants.

"Peeta," Hazelle says as she worriedly approaches me, "why don't you take a break? You need to get some rest."

"It's alright." I actually am starting to feel some traces of fatigue, but I can't afford to fall asleep. Not when I know what's waiting for me in dreamland.

"No it's not. Look at yourself; this isn't healthy."

"I'm fine!" I snap, instantly regretting it. _Maybe I do need some shuteye…_ "I'm sorry for that, Ms. Hawthrone. But I can't risk sleep. How about this: if I take a small nap, will you wake me up?"

She purses her lips, shakes her head, and sighs. "You're as bad as my son. Alright, if you think that's all you need, I won't challenge you. It's better than nothing."

Despite her reservations, Hazelle's good on her word and wakes me up after thirty minutes; I take several of those naps throughout the time that we wait for the bombs to stop. Being that she's the mother of the guy who was pretty much my rival in Twelve, I find it almost hilariously ironic that Hazelle is being more of a mother to me than my birth mother ever was. When I bring up the subject to her, she just laughs it off.

"Gale may be my son, and I do have my bias towards him. However, you're a good boy; there's no reason to see you suffer just because you and Gale like the same girl."

That makes me mutter, "If I was better, we wouldn't be in this me—"

"Stop that! You had no control of the situation we're in, so there's no way I'm going to judge you on such ridiculous notions. I'm going to judge you, among other things, on how you're helping out with the little ones, how you managed to help make Gale a bit more presentable on camera, and how you seem to be more focused about the welfare of others than any military objective.

"Also, on the subject of Kantiss: it's not like either of you have a stake in her. If she decides to choose one of you or the other — hell, if she decides to stay single — it's her prerogative. Besides," she says with a rather conspiratorial smile, "even if Katniss does pick you, I'm sure that Gale will find a girl that fits him quite well.

"In any case, the only thing that matters is getting her home safely."

Hazelle's last comment couldn't have come sooner enough. As soon as the bombs cease, I'm informed me that Command has come to a decision:

The victors are going to be rescued.

~oOo~

The rescue team leaves almost immediately once it's clear that no bombs are on the way. Among other soldiers, Boggs, Chaff, and Gale are part of the squad sent to infiltrate the Capitol. From information provided by insiders and corroborated with Annie's intel, the actual jailbreak will occur at night as that's when both Katniss should be in her cell with Johanna and Finnick. So it means that they should be back by the next morning.

I should be jealous that Gale's going to be the one to break Katniss out. However, I know that I'm little to no use in such an environment, whereas Gale's performance is practically off the charts. Right now, all I care about is everybody geting back safely. _Please stay safe…_

So now comes the wait. I hate the wait.

Plutarch originally wants me to do a propo to show that I'm still alive and kicking. However, once he sees my face, he practically turns and runs in the opposite direction. They decide to just use some footage of me helping out around during the bombing itself. Apparently, the propos are not just to show that Thirteen's not down for the count, but that they also serve as a distraction for the team.

In the meantime, I wait with Annie in the hummingbird room. I'm too anxious to even distract myself through reading, but at the very least, I got my sketchbook back. This time, instead of dreams, I illustrate all my feared scenarios: Boggs with his legs blown off; the hovercraft blown out of the sky; Chaff riddled with bullets; Snow personally executing a kneeling Gale in front of a jeering crowd of Capitol citizens; the team finding the mangled remains of the victors in their cells… Occasionally, I illustrate some of Annie's rants with various individuals — some hypothetical, others actually happening — serving as the subject matter: Johanna being electrocuted; water continuously poured over Haymitch's face; me having the skin between my fingers cut.

Either way, I just keep drawing. I don't eat; I don't think; I just draw.

Finally we are told that the team is coming back and that we are supposed to wait in at the hospital. Other than that there were no casualties on our side, we're given no information as to the mission's result. The two of us walk there together, and as we wait, we hold each other's hand in mutual anxiety.

Suddenly main doors of the hospital burst open and a gurney surrounded by nurses and physicians rushes inside. I can't see who the patient is, but Annie seems to be able to. The next thing I know she calls out Finnick's name, with equal parts worry and joy, and proceeds to join the mass of people; fortunately, the physicians don't object.

A loud sarcastic voice blurts out, "Oh right, everybody pays attention to the pretty one. Ignore me…" I turn to see Johanna being wheeled in. She's definitely seen better days; she's emaciated and sallow from the lack of food and light, and covered in bruises from a surplus of abuse. Not to mention how her head's been completely shaved, with scabbed and oozing lacerations covering her scalp, and she seems to be missing a right hand. However, there is no denying that she still has quite a bit of spunk left.

Chaff, who's walking along her gurney, puts a hand to his chest in mock hurt. "Hey, I've been with you the entire time. Does that mean I don't count as everybody?"

"Yes."

I decide to distract myself from my anxiety by joining her for a bit, "Hey, Johanna. How you holding up?"

"Oh hey look! It's Bread Boy!" Johanna chirps before getting a good look at me and grimacing. "Wow, you look like shit, and that's saying something."

"Thanks," I respond dryly. _Yep, definitely hasn't lost her spunk._ "Hey, so how's Katniss doing?"

At the mention of Katniss' name, both Johanna's and Chaff's expression soften and any lingering amusement on their faces fades away, causing the anxiety I held back to return two fold.

Before I can inquire any further, Gale barges in with a stony expression and, like the rest of the soldiers, a physical condition that's a little worse for wear. Upon seeing me, however, his expression falters, and he looks like he's ready to flee in the opposite direction as fast as possible.

"Gale?" To his credit, he stands his ground and attempts to compose himself. "What's going on? Where's Katniss?"

He just mutters, "She's not here…"

_No, that can't be right._ "What you mean? Is she's still on the hove—"

"I MEAN SHE'S NOT HERE!" he bellows as he clutches both my shoulders, leaning his entire weight against me. After he takes a few breaths, he continues: "The Capitol… They-they must have known we were coming. Apparently they moved her out at the very last moment. Where? I don't know. All I know is that I failed her again…"

As Gale bows his head and keeps his hands clasped on my shoulders, my mind attempts to figure out everything.

_So she's still with Snow? Why is she still with Snow? What does he want with her? He can't hurt her. Please don't hurt her… _

Haymitch, who's looking no less distressed, comes and snaps his fingers in our faces, "Guys, flip out later. Coin wants us in Command right now.

"Apparently, the Capitol is about to make a special announcement."

~oOo~

More waiting until the Capitol seal pops up.

Instead of the usual broadcasts from Caesar's stage, this broadcast is from the balcony of President's Mansion. Snow and Katniss are addressing cheering Capitol citizens crowded in the City Circle. To my relief, Katniss looks to be unharmed; she's actually somewhat smiling and waving at the crowds. Not to mention that she's absolutely radiant in the flowing white gown that she's wearing.

Snow calmly gestures for the crowds to simmer down. "The last broadcast we had a couple days ago may have had a few people worried. I assure you, Katniss' outburst was not taken personally. Why, I would have great trepidation if she did not show any concern for those she cares about." He pauses to bring Katniss' hand to his lips for a kiss; a growl emanates from Gale when he sees that.

Snow continues: "It is in light of this that I have decided to show the Capitol's generosity. Whenever District Thirteen is ready to put forward its terms, I am willing to begin a one-week ceasefire. This is so wounds can heal, the dead can be buried, and everybody can take a breather. Who knows, maybe it will stick, and we can once again have peace."

There is furious muttering amongst those is Command. Much of is debating the pros and cons of the ceasefire, or how much Snow can be kept to his word.

However, Snow isn't finished. "The rebels no doubt are suspicious of my intentions. What reason do I have, besides magnanimity, to offer such a thing? Well, I simply wish to take a little break for reasons of celebration. Because I have an important announcement to make:

"After much time together, Katniss and I have recently joined in the sacred union of marriage."

The reaction is almost immediate: both the Capitol audience and Command is stunned into silence. Snow looks smug and Katniss remains impassive as they preside over said silence. However, while the Capitol crowd's silence is soon replaced by cheering, Command's silence is broken by Gale issuing an inarticulate and primal scream full of rage and despair.

I don't know what to think.

_K-Katniss? Why…_

"In any case," Snow says straight into the camera as his smile widens, "what kind of father would I be if I didn't marry the mother of my child?"

Whatever Snow says next is drowned out by the resultant uproar. Haymitch is screaming obscenities at the screen. Gale… actually looks like he's crying. I just look around, puzzled at the reactions and still trying to figure out what's going on.

_Mother of his child? But I thought he was talking about Katniss. Wait, is Katniss — no, it can't be. He's lying. Just another Capitol lie. That what the Capitol does; it lies. Just another fabrication... Isn't it? It can't be true. No, it's not true. IT'S NOT TRUE DAMMIT! It's not… It's not… It's… true. No… Nononononono… Oh… Oh Katniss… What have I done? I brought this down upon her. It's all my fault. My fault. Mother's right; I'm a screw-up. No, wait, there's still time to fix things. Yes, still time. I can make things right. After all, no place to go but up, haha! I just need to put in more effort. Then victory's just around the corner. Yes, just around the corner. Time to get to work. _

I proceed to get up and grab Gale to come with me. However, he just won't budge and, instead, looks at me like I'm insane or something. Actually, all of Command is now staring as if I had lost my marbles.

_Well, don't just stand there. There's pro— Huh… Why is the room spinning?_

Next thing I know, I'm on the ground, which actually doesn't feel too bad. Gale and Haymitch are at my side as well, with frantic expressions on their faces for some reason. Both guys shouting stuff at me, but their voices are too muffled for me to comprehend what they are saying. Maybe they are simply trying to tell me to get a move on.

_Really guys? First you seem hesitant when I motion for us to get busy, and now you're telling me to get move on? Make up your damn minds!_

While the ground is becoming more comfortable at each passing second, Gale actually starts shaking me and screaming in my face.

_Alright, alright! I'll be up in a second. Just give me a couple minutes so I can take a short nap. Yeah… that sounds good. Just a little nap._

_Just… a… little… na—_

* * *

Cato's relaxing on a stump and popping back some nightlock. When he sees me, he cheerfully waves me over as if I were a long-lost friend.

"Hey Peeta! It's been awhile." He pauses to glance over me up and down. "Wow… You really look like shit. Why don't you take a breather?"

After he plops me down onto a stump next to his, Cato rummages around his pocket and brings out a handful of berries. "Here, have some. I promise they'll make everything feel better."

I don't even hesitate before grabbing a couple and throwing them back.

* * *

**A/N: Aint I a stinker?**


	21. Happy Places and Invitations

"Well aren't you a pitiful sight…"

Normally, a mockingjay perching on my counter and talking to me should be cause for concern.

However, at this point I barely even look up, from the dough I'm kneading, to grumble, "Go away. Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Oooh, taking the tough guy approach. I'm _sure_ that fits you perfectly." The creature is definitely living up to the first part of its name. It doesn't help that it is speaking in _her_ voice.

Finally I look up and sigh, "What do you want?"

"I want you to get off your ass and do something besides filling this house with baked goods."

I allow myself take in my surroundings to see the stacks upon stacks of bread, cookies, pastries, pies, cakes, and other food items that have formed a practical maze throughout the living area. The advantage of being here is that food doesn't spoil. However, since I make a lot more than I eat — hell, I don't even need to eat — things tend to accumulate after a while.

"I guess you're right," I say, putting my apron up and moving towards the door. "I do need to go into town to buy some paints."

"That's not what I meant and you know it!" the bird calls after me.

"Don't care!"

I don't bother closing the door behind me as I walk out of the ivy-strewn house, through the weed-choked Victor's Village, and towards the ever-burning pyre that is District Twelve.

The first time I saw the place, I was naturally horrified. Now, I'm whistling to myself as I casually step around the charred or bloated corpses of merchants, Seam residents, and Peacekeepers scattered throughout the district; it's amazing the things one gets used to after a couple weeks. Still, I don't head into town unless I need something. I also look determinately forward as I pass the husk that used to be the bakery.

Despite, the fact that the craft store is lacking a roof and on fire, the various goods on the shelves are remarkably unscathed. I grab a couple red and yellow pigments, plus a bottle of linseed oil, before tossing several coins into the till as I head out; the proprietor may currently be burnt to a crisp and slumped over the counter, but it would be rude of me to leave without paying.

I'm about to trudge back to the Victor's Village when a voice calls out, "Peeta."

It's a gentle yet firm voice that I've not heard since that fateful hovercraft ride. A voice that I've not even heard in any of my dreams. It freezes me in my tracks and causes my heart to constrict as a lump forms in my throat. _No, it can't be… Can it?_ Slowly but surely, I turn towards the bakery, where I see him standing next to the melted lump which used to be the oven.

"D-Dad?"

I don't know what happens in the time between, but one moment I'm gaping stupidly in the middle of the square, and the next, I'm hugging him and sobbing into his shoulder. I may be blubbering like a baby towards what's probably just a complete fabrication of my mind, but, right now, I don't give a damn. What matters is that he's here.

"I missed you," I gasp between sobs.

"I know, son… I know."

"I-I'm sorry that—"

"Shhh… It's not your fault. There's no reason to blame yourself."

"But—"

Dad breaks the embrace to look me sternly in the eye. "No 'buts'."

When I hesitantly nod, he simply says, "Why don't we take a walk to somewhere a bit less depressing? In the meantime, fill me in on what's going on with your life."

"Pa, you're in my mind. Shouldn't you know everything already?"

He simply throws his head back and gives a laugh. A good hearty laugh just like he used to. Oh, how I missed that laugh. "Perhaps. But I'd rather hear it in your own words."

So we walk, with Dad guiding me to wherever we are going, and talk. Or more accurately, _I_ talk and he remains silent. But I guess that's how we always were; I was always the one to have something to say while he was the one to listen. And with each passing minute, I feel weight after weight being dropped off.

It's not until we stop walking, and I have pretty much talked myself dry, when I realize that we are somewhere that I haven't been to during my little internal exile: the Meadow. It's actually completely untouched by the devastation behind us; goldenrod and tall meadow rue sway gently in the cool breeze as the sun provides a steady source of warmth. Not a single flake of ash settles here, and even the few clouds in the clear blue sky are free from the taint that rises from the ruins.

_Why have I never been here before?_

_Because you've been too busy slumming it in your house._

_Oh… _

For a while, Dad and I are simply content to take in the scenery and let the moments pass. Of course, such a thing isn't bound to last, as he grabs a hold of my shoulders so that he can face me.

"Listen to me, Peeta. There's a whole lot of good you can be doing out there, not to mention people still around who care about you. You can't afford to fade away like this."

"Easier said than done," I grumble.

"I never said it would be easy. But would you rather let everybody down and allow all of Panem to end up like that," he asks, gesturing to the ruins, "or would you rather give it all you got?"

Great, he has me backed into a corner with no escape expect for the one he's provided, and, from the smile he's giving me, he knows it. _Dammit_. "Alright, you win this one."

Dad just laughs and pats me on the back. "Never figured you to be a quitter anyways." Then he nods past my shoulder.

Turns out Cato decided to join us.

"I've come to see you off," he answers my unasked query with the usual cheer.

"What happened to the whole 'one big happy family' thing?"

"Yeah… I think it's best to stick to the regular dreams. It turns out that after a while, you're a pretty depressing guy. Not to mention boring. Yep, temporary visits are definitely better."

"Thanks, I guess."

"No problem," he chirps as he pulls his sword from the scabbard on his back.

"Um, what's the sword for?"

"It's either this or you jumping into a fire or something like that. Do you have a better idea to wake up?"

I look at the hellish ruins behind us and then take in the serene expanse of the meadow.

"Nevermind…" I turn back to Dad to give him one final embrace. "Will I ever see you again?"

"I can't guarantee anything, son. Just promise me that you'll do your best."

"Alright, I promise… I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, Peeta."

Once we have said our goodbyes, I turn to face Cato, who just cocks an eyebrow at me.

"You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

He lines his sword up with my neck and grins. "I'll admit: I've wanted to do this for quite some time. See you around…"

I just roll my eyes as he moves to swing back. "Yeah yeah, till next time. Let's just get this over with."

"Oh, and Peeta?" This time Cato's voice holds no cheer, and the sudden seriousness of his expression catches me a bit off guard. "Keep them safe."

"Wha—"

I don't get to ask Cato to clarify as his sword slices through me and the world collapses in on itself. I make sure that Dad's the last thing I see.

* * *

Waking up from a long nap is a nice refreshing experience. Waking up after an absurdly long period of unconsciousness is a bitch. It was like that when I woke up after having my leg removed; it's like that now. To complete the picture, I appear to be in the hospital.

I also notice that there are tracks of wetness on my face from my eyes. Now _that's_ fairly embarrassing.

Ultimately, while I do manage to get my face completely dry, my painfully stiff motions eventually catch the attention of the guy sitting next to me.

Of course it's Gale.

He's actually starting to look a bit like me, with dark crescent underneath his eyes and an overall haggard bearing. I wonder what's eating him.

For a couple moments all the hunter does is blink in my direction as if I were some apparition. Then realization sets in, and he looks as if he's on the verge of some kind of worry/happiness-induced breakdown.

It's making me fairly uncomfortable, so the first thing I do is smirk and croak, "We really need to stop meeting like this. People will start getting ideas."

Gale's look of concern and relief slips away and is replaced by a scowl, and he proceeds to storm off. However, right as he gets to the door, he turns around, walks back, and wallops me in the arm. Hard.

I gasp as the shock goes up and down it. "Hey, what the hell was that for?"

All Gale does is grab a fistful of the front of my hospital gown and pull me up until we are eye to eye. "Don't you ever think of clocking-out like that again!" he thickly growls before letting go and completing his huffy little exit.

Within a couple minutes, Haymitch hurries in. Fortunately he keeps his cool and just decides to fill me in on the details.

He proceeds to explain that, in his own words, "You had the most epic freak-out I've ever had the displeasure of witnessing." One moment, I was just staring straight ahead; the next, I was babbling incoherently before collapsing into unconsciousness. From there, I was pretty much comatose for about five days.

Command's still undecided as whether to take up Snow's offer for a temporary ceasefire. While they don't trust the idea, the Rebellion's in a very bad shape at the moment, and they could use the time to regroup. Apparently Snow's last announcement, plus me being out of commission, really did in the morale of the rebels.

To me, the whole thing sounds a bit silly that they are placing all their motivation on a couple of teenagers. Shouldn't the fact that they are fighting for their own freedom be motivation enough? Ah well…

"Also Finnick wants to see you as soon as possible. It sounds important."

"Alright, I'll head there as soon as I can actually move."

Haytmich eyes me soberly. "I have to warn you though; he's in real bad shape. Annie keeps him tethered, but the kid's a bit on the fragile side right now. I trust that you know how to handle these things, but I just want to give you a heads-up."

_Finnick's one of the most confident guys I've met; what could make him fragile, of all things?_ Suddenly, my question's answered as Annie recites her little torture manual in my head. Suppressing a shudder, I nod in assent. "I'll keep that in mind."

After we get that all that cleared out to the way, Haymitch's disposition goes back up and he cheerfully chirps, "By the way, check out what the little Hawthorne decided to bring to her last show-and-tell." With that, he tosses a piece of paper on my lap and vacates from my presence.

Hesitantly, I flip the sheet over. It's a drawing of me in bed and Gale at my bedside, and underneath in bold letters is a simple, yet dreaded, title: "Sleeping Beauty."

_Fuck._

~oOo~

Being bed for almost a week's worth of time means that it take me a while to actually get up and move around. I probably look like an elderly man in the way I walk. However, as soon as I'm mobile, I don't waste any time going on my way. I even refuse a wheelchair in the process so that can get the circulation running again.

On the way to Finnick's quarters, I get to have the wonderful pleasure of passing by Johanna's bed. Unfortunately, she's awake and spots me.

"Look," she crows, nudging Chaff in the process, "if it isn't Sleeping Beauty!"

_Is that what they are seriously calling me now? I'm actually yearning for the days of "Bread Boy" and "Loverboy". _

"Now now Johanna; be nice," Chaff reprimands. _At least somebody's on my si_—"It's not his fault that he's the prettiest princess."

The only response I can give is to gape as if I were a beached fish. Of course, Johanna then decides to pile on the fun.

"Hey guys, I just noticed something pretty awesome." She excitedly gestures with her handless arm towards Chaff's arm and my leg. "We're stump buddies!"

_I… I got nothing._ So I just give them both a tight smile and wave before proceeding as quickly as I can to Finnick's quarters.

I should have announced myself, but instead, I simply go right on in to greet Finnick and Annie. I immediately regret doing so, and it takes everything within me not to do an about-face and run away. However, I steel myself and walk steadily forward.

Even with Annie's descriptions of Finnick's torture, and Haymitch telling me that he's in pretty bad shape, nothing prepares me for the sight before my eyes. The District Four victor, known for his athletic build and bronze skin, is emaciated and sallow from the lack of light. His hair hangs lifelessly down to his shoulders, while his sea-green eye, usually holding a mischievous glint, is dull and looks down in shame upon seeing me.

Right when I come in, a nurse is in the process of changing his bandages, so I get a clear unobstructed view of his face. Or what's left of it. While the entire right side of Finnick's face — plus the nose, lips, and scalp — has been left intact, the majority of the left side has practically been stripped away to the bone. In some spots, I swear that I can even see the white glint of his cheekbone and several molars. His ear has been completely cut off, and an empty socket gazes at me even as the right eye looks away. And while his lips themselves may be intact, there is a cut extending, in a grotesque smile, from the corner of his mouth until it disappears into the mass of mangled flesh.

The worse thing is that it's obvious why they kept the majority of his face unmarred. Even with all the disfigurement given to him, he'd still be a valuable commodity should he ever fall back into the possession of the Capitol again. Hell, there are probably some potential customers who would be actually attracted to his scars.

When the new set of bandages are finally placed, I sit myself down on the stool opposite from Annie — who's look far more upbeat and healthy than I ever seen her before — and gently say, "Hi Finnick. It's good to see you again."

He finally makes eye contact with me and gives a small sad smile before grunting and making a couple gestures to Annie, after which she gives him a pen and paper to write in.

"_Good to see you too, Peeta. Sorry if my face is a bit… distracting." _

The last part of his note helps to relieve the tension and makes me chuckle a bit. However, the laughter dies in my throat when the realization hits me:

Finnick is an Avox.

It makes sense. The Capitol is not content to simply let him go after they find no more use for him. There are so many secrets that he knows, and, short of killing him, there's no better way to silence him than getting rid of his voice. Even though he can easily write down all his thoughts, it's just not the same as him getting in front of an audience and speaking them out.

It's also one more reason to take Snow down.

I know Finnick doesn't need any of my pity, so I decide to get right to the point: "Haymitch said you wanted to see me."

He nods his head vigorously and scribbles, _"Yeah. First, I'm glad to see you getting your beauty sleep."_

Now it's now my turn to scowl. All Finnick does in response is give me a big lopsided grin full of mischievous feigned innocence, the old him shining through in the process.

The fun doesn't last when he adds, _"Thing is, Snow wanted me to pass on a message."_

My blood runs cold at that, but I just calmly ask, "What's the message?"

Finnick gives me a shake of the head and taps the back of his right ear, which I have no clue as to the meaning of. _"Not here. We need to see Beetee first."_

~oOo~

Beetee has apparently already met with Finnick as he shows no surprise when the District Four victor wheels in with Annie walking beside him; they are practically inseparable. After he prattles on about the possibility of making a speech synthesizer, which Finnick has apparently rebuffed for the repeated time —_ "I don't want to sound like some toneless machine."_ — we get right down to business.

"All Avoxes," Beetee explains, "have a chip installed at the base of their skull. It's used as an identification tag. However, it can also be used to store other information."

Beetee proceeds to scan Finnick — whatever reason Thirteen has Avox scanning devices, I don't want to know — which causes a whole bunch of stats to appear on the screen, starting with a "04-0107B". After we scroll through tons of personal information, which I just feel uncomfortable going through, we finally settle on a file that's titled "A Message for Mr. Mellark".

Upon selecting the file, the computer asks for a voice authorization, which throws me for a bit of a loop.

"So… what do I do; just say my name or something?"

Beetee just shrugs. "I suppose so; it's not asking for some personal detail or password. In any case the computer already has a microphone and voice-recognition software built in, so you don't have to worry about that."

"If you say so…" Just to be sure, I stand as close to the terminal as possible when I say, "Peeta Mellark."

Several seconds pass as the computer process my input. Finally it's declared to be "Acceptable", and the face of President Snow appears on screen.

Finnick actually flinches and cringes away at the sight.

The bearded, rose-loving sadist just smiles at us. "Mr. Mellark, I assume this is you watching. I really don't care if others see; only that you get my little message.

"I take it that you watched, or at least heard, the wonderful news. No doubt that you are harboring some doubts as to the validity of my claims. Well, I assure you that I am not lying at all in this regard. Katniss Snow," — he seems to draw out the last word agonizingly long — "is my lawfully-wedded wife. And she is indeed pregnant with my child."

Even after adjusting to the bombshell dropped on me earlier, I still find myself fairly short of breath at the subject being brought up again. As I attempt to get myself under control, a firm hand clasps my shoulder almost painfully. I look to see that Gale has joined us, and he's glaring at me to keep things together; this is in spite of he himself looking pretty shaken up.

Snow actually seems to have taken my reaction into account as he waits a bit before continuing: "If it is any consolation, I will say that, no, I did not bed her; I am not an idiot. It was just a simple procedure we did right after the events at the end of the Quarter Quell.

"In any case, that's not what my message is about. Or at least, that's not what the main body of my message is about. You see, Mr. Mellark, you are an intriguing individual. I admit that I was so focused on Katniss that I overlooked you. Even when you actually managed to turn the Capitol audiences against the Games with your little 'baby announcement', my concern was primarily about the Mockingjay. However, with the events of the past month, I see that I have been severely mistaken. It's not always the fiery ones you have to look out for..."

_Where is he going with this? _

"Which is why I am interested in speaking with you. Face to face. Man to man."

_He what? _From the collective intake of breath, it seems the rest of the guys are just as taken aback by the news.

"I will even bring Katniss along so that you and all your friends will be able to meet her in-person after all this time."

I face Gale to see that he's wearing same mixture of hope and suspicion that I feel.

_What if this is a—_

"Now, again, I'm not an idiot. And from what I have seen, you're not one either. There's no way that you're going to willingly waltz into a trap. And there's no way I will leave myself undefended or allow you to take Katniss back with you. So bear in mind that I will have precautions set in place. As for your own suspicions, I would simply like you to know that I could have easily killed you any time I wished. Don't believe me? How about some visual evidence:"

It is just footage of me and Gale having another one of our wrestling matches in front of the squad. From the trees surrounding us, it's clear that this was when we were in Seven. However, I feel a chill go up my spine when I realize that we never that part of the propo. In fact, the camera guys are relaxing with the rest of the soldiers, their gear off and sitting next to them. And from the angle, this footage was taken from some distance.

_Snow has been keeping tabs on me wherever I went._

Gale understandably seems to be just as freaked out by this news.

"However," Snow simply says when the footage had finished, "I promised a mutual friend of ours that I would not directly harm you or Hawthorne. And I am a man of my word.

"Anyways, I am sure that you will have precautions of your own. Should you agree to this, I have the contact information provided. This will be to make arrangements as to the time, place, and precautionary measures put in place. Naturally, it should occur during the ceasefire, whenever you agree to it.

"I look forward to hearing from you soon." And just like that, video ends.

With the vid's end comes a debate amongst us as whether to take or ignore Snow's invitation. Soon though, curiosity wins out, and the question as to how to convince Coin becomes the main topic.

That's when I get an idea.

"Hey, Beetee... I take it that you knew quite a few people while you were a victor, especially some higher-ups. Am I correct?"

"Yeah?" he answers hesitantly, not sure where I'm going with this.

"So where's Three's Victor's Village again?"

Beetee's eyes go wide as comprehension dawns, "No… You're not seriously thinking of…"

I just nod and give him a wide smile. I admit that there's some considerable satisfaction in seeing Beetee as the mortified one for once.

~oOo~

The meeting with Coin has just about the usual levels of pleasantness. She doesn't waste any time labeling my practical coma as me not pulling my weight. So it's no surprise that when I bring up the idea for a ceasefire and Snow's invitation, she flat-out refuses at first. So then comes the convincing.

After long, protracted, and exceedingly bitter — if wasn't clear that we didn't like each other before, this probably removes any room for doubt — debate, when it seems that Coin has started to be worn down enough, I finally decide to mention my plan. To my great pleasure, it seems to catch her completely off guard. Finally, after another hour of debating, she finally relents, though I think that I'm beginning to reach the limit of how many times I'm able to debate her.

If this succeeds, it could mean a major boost for the Rebellion. If it doesn't… well, we have nothing left to lose.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, I admit it; the "stump buddies" line was something I've wanted to do from the very beginning, even before I actually put the story into writing.**

**If you're curious as to the oh-so-wonderful procedure Finnick went through on his way to Avoxhood, check out Chapter 3 of "How to Make an Avox". **


	22. Promises

Apparently, even with this war going on, Thirteen hasn't severed its communication link to the Capitol. And that's exactly what's used to set the terms.

The agreement's simple: 168-hour cessation of hostilities. During that time, both sides are allowed to fall back, regroup, and take care of wounded with the assurance of no harassment. Limited mobility, especially to retrieve the dead, is also allowed with the tacit implication that nobody wanders into any strongholds; both the Capitol and Thirteen are strictly no-entry. Any hostile action by a member of the other side will be regarded as a renegade action and the perpetrators alienated from the faction they claim to represent, allowing the aggrieved to enact retribution. Nothing's said about covert missions or espionage as it is a given that both will continue without interruption.

The meeting with Snow has additional stipulations added. It will be held at a neutral, uninhabited location that's revealed the day we head out. We're allowed to arm ourselves, but the moment there's a move to either harm Snow or retrieve Katniss, not only will the cease-fire be off, but there will be a dead-man's order to begin bombardment of Thirteen as well as all major population centers in rebel-controlled territory; unlike earlier, it will be nuclear. The same stipulation is made if any harm comes to me as well as my party. Frankly, I'm ready to agree with that as it means that Coin won't sacrifice me, Katniss, or my friends just to have a chance to get at Snow; at this point, I seriously wouldn't put such a thing past her.

Less agreeable is the point that Katniss is Snow's wife and we are to treat her as such. The Capitol seems intent on rubbing our faces in that fact as much as possible.

Once it's clear that everybody's gotten the memo, the ceasefire is officially put into action and guns throughout the ravaged country fall silent. Once that last minute's over, the fight will probably start right back up again. Of course, the pertinent question remains: who will get the first shot in?

Beetee informs me that his contacts have been reached and everything should be all set whenever I'm ready. As of now, nobody besides me, him, and Coin know the full extent of my plan.

Several days into the ceasefire, it's finally time to head out. The location that picked comes as a bit of a surprise. I was expecting something closer to Capitol-friendly territory like the Hadean Wastes or something. However, the spot picked is an old abandoned city, just to the north of District Six, called Centerpoint. Apparently it was the capital of the United American Federation, the nation that came right before Panem.

Going with me are Gale, Haymitch, Boggs, Boggs' squad, Cressida, Pollux, and Beetee; the last guy's presence surprises the hell out of everybody else, but they fortunately don't press for answers. Chaff's staying behind to keep Annie, Finnick, and Johanna company; Coin wants Messalla and Castor to stay with Plutarch in Thirteen in case there's something to be shot; and I don't want to risk bringing the rest of the Hawthornes.

"This sucks…" Gale grumbles as our hovercraft begins to head out.

"Now what?" I can't help but feel a twinge of irritation at his moodier-than-usual disposition.

"So we get to meet Katniss, but we can't afford to get too close. All due to the simple fact that we have to play along with this marriage charade…"

"Hey, it's not like you're dealing with anything new," I cheerfully quip.

That earns a caustic glare from him. "You're not helping, Mellark."

Haymitch decides to enter into this conversation in all his diplomatic grace. "Would you rather not see her at all? Because we can easily turn around and drop you off back in Thirteen."

Some time passes before Gale finally sighs. "No…"

"Then you should count your blessings and quit your bellyaching."

I opt for a friendlier approach. "Hey, you'll get to meet and talk to her in person after all this time. That has to count for something."

"I guess…"

"And in the end, we _will_ win this, and we _will_ get her out of Snow's clutches."

As Gale's disposition seems to increase a bit after that, I keep myself from adding, _"And hopefully, we won't go back to the same unpleasantness between us that we had back in Twelve…"_

~oOo~

Despite supposedly being abandoned for around a century, it's clear that Centerpoint used to be a beautiful city. It was obviously made with a lot of pride in mind to show off the power and prosperity of its nation, yet doesn't give off the same garish vibe as the Capitol. And even while the skyscrapers in the surrounding area appear to be in various states of disrepair and degradation, the main part — which is on some island — looks to be remarkably intact. Low-rise stone structures are spread across the landscape, with the most notable two being one in a pentagonal shape and the other with a large shield-like dome in the middle of it.

We land in a large plaza in front of the domed building. Snow's group is already there and waiting for us.

I see her the moment I disembark from the hovercraft. Maybe it's just the fact that I haven't seen her in person for the last couple months; but she looks even more beautiful than before. Upon seeing us, I swear a wistful expression shows up on her face, but she quickly covers it up. I want to run up and scoop her in my arms.

But that would be a violation of the damn rules.

In any case, the point is rendered moot as President Snow waylays me before I can get any closer.

"Mr. Mellark, if you don't mind, I would actually like to have a word with you. You can talk to Katniss all you want afterwards."

I grit my teeth a bit, but nod in response. "So what do you have to say?"

Snow just shakes his head in mock disapproval. "When I said man-to-man, I did not mean in front of a whole group of people. Let's take a walk."

Both the Peacekeepers and members of my group look nervous at that suggestion. However, a look from Snow silences any amount of dissent, and I managed to convince the guys that I'll be fine. Next thing I know, I'm walking next to my most hated enemy, as the rest of the guys socialize with Katniss.

"So where are we going?"

"I think the Federal Legal Center would be a nice place to be."

"That what?"

He gestures over to the large domed building. "It was the governmental house for the UAF. By the way, before we get down to business, I think it would be productive if we are honest with each other. Wouldn't you agree."

I shrug as we begin going up a large flight of marble steps, "Sure. Not like we have anything to hide, besides the usual stuff."

"Excellent. I knew you'd be an agreeable person."

"Good to know." _Not._ "In which case, let me ask you the obvious question. Say we manage to take the Capitol…"

"That is a very big hypothetical."

_Of course it would be for you._ "Humor me. Anyways, if we manage to take the Capitol, what is to stop you from launching your nukes in a fit of spite?"

"A fair question. The basic answer is that it would defeat the purpose of the game."

I look at him with hostile incredulity. "You think this all is a game?" _He oversees games where kids kill each other; are you really so surprised?_

"Life itself is a game. Once you figure that out, things become much easier. So like I said, if you manage to take the Capitol, it is a fair win. Who am I to destroy what's left of this nation through being a sore loser?"

I know that we made that agreement towards honesty, but Snow's sincerity in that statement still takes me aback.

After we pass through a set of large ornate bronze doors and walk into what I assume to be the main hall, I take a look at my surroundings and allow my jaw to drop.

Snow seems to sense my current state of wonderment. "Magnificent, isn't it?"

"Yeah…" It really is. One could easily fit in Twelve's square inside the hall with more than plenty of room to spare; same goes for the Justice Building without its top even getting remotely close to the base of the dome. Intricate mosaics cover almost every square inch of the interior with many of them appearing to depict important historical events. The early morning light that dapples through windows on the east side of the building, as well as those surrounding the dome, illuminates the mosaics and gives a shimmering effect overall. In the very center, a bronze seal with a stylized eagle sits within a dry circular pool. The only real sign of neglect are the broken windows here and there, as well as the light patchwork of vegetation carpeting the floor.

The serene setting almost makes me forget that there's a mass murderer standing right next to me. Almost.

"Something as grand almost makes you wonder how such a powerful nation went from being at the top of the world to nothing," Snow muses before turning to me. "Mr. Mellark, do you know what happened to the UAF?"

"The Great Cataclysm happened." Everybody knows that.

"Yes, but a nation as powerful and advanced as this would have no doubt been able to weather out a couple volcanic eruptions. In fact, this very city was inhabited until the start of the Dark Days."

Well that explains the good condition of everything. "What happened to the people?"

"Nobody knows. They refused to join Panem and kept to themselves. Suddenly, the city was abandoned. But I digress. My question still stands: how was such a powerful nation able to be destroyed by a couple eruptions?"

"Well there was also the war that—"

"Exactly. There was the war. The Cataclysm may have destroyed civilization, but it was the wars that weakened it to the point of everything easily toppling over. So what makes you so sure this war won't lead to Panem's destruction?"

_And we finally get to the point._ "What makes you think it will?"

Snow pauses to regard me dryly. "How Socratic of you. But I'll bite. We have fourteen factional entities, including the Capitol and District Thirteen, which have varying ideas and desires. We have a nation that is reliant on inter-district codependence to keep its populace fed. We have a hostile neighbor to the south that is looking for any semblance of weakness from this nation. And we have seen incidents from the Rebellion that are not exactly in the purview of civilized behavior."

The last comment makes me nervously fiddle around with the picture and tag of Julian that I have looped around my belt, but I stand my ground. "Those were isolated incidents and it's not like the Capitol has been exactly innocent in that regard. As for cooperation, we are already seeing a much more united front than what has been evident with the First Rebellion. It's not that hard to see things transferring to civic rule."

"Your ideals are all fine and dandy, but you seem to be hopelessly naive. Human nature shows us that it is much easier to fall prey to selfishness and spite than it is towards cooperation. In the end, chaos is the simplest conclusion."

"Well, let me ask you this Mr. President: what have you done to keep this from happening?"

"Pardon?"

"You heard me. What have you done to keep this country from falling into chaos? You've been in charge of this nation for at least a quarter of a century. Within that amount of time, you could have eased the districts back into prosperity. You could have allowed people to speak their minds. You could have had the Peacekeepers actual protect the people instead of terrorizing them. You could have stopped killing their children. If you actually allowed folks to be content, we probably wouldn't have to deal with this."

"Do you realize the backlash that would occur if all resources were suddenly reallocated? For all your contempt towards the Capitol, there is still the reality that the citizens are also members of this nation as well. What's more, they are the one's closest to the sources of power."

"I realize that. That's why I mention to making the process gradual. You could have done a lot within a couple decades.

"But no, you didn't even bother going gradual, but instead maintained the status quo in the Capitol. You not only allowed the Hunger Games to continue — by the way, I know that there were only supposed to be fourteen Games, but your immediate predecessor just had to modify the treaty and turn it into a source of entertainment — but began pimping-out victors. You created an entire class of slavery. And the deprivation in the districts continues. What did expect people to do; just roll over and accept their fate?"

"I did what I had to," Snow hisses. "Until now, stability was ensured in both the districts and the Capitol."

"How's that working out for you?" I gesture to his bloody napkin. I've learned from Finnick how Snow got to power through poisoning his rivals. Apparently, he didn't plan one of his assassination attempts quite right. Personally, if that's the result, it doesn't sound like it's worth it.

When he doesn't respond, I decide to continue:

"Let's say that you do manage to crush this Rebellion, what's to say that another one won't take its place?"

"By that time, I should be long gone."

"Ah… And that's where everything comes back to: you. In the end, for all your rationalizations about stability, most of this has been so you can have power. And you have been too chickenshit to challenge the Capitol's bloodlust and gluttony, because there would always be the risk that the Capitolites would be pissed-off and have your head. Well, this country may explode into chaos, but don't think for a second that you did not have a hand in loading the powderkeg."

Snow looks me over for quite a while before a wide smile appears. "It turns out that I was not mistaken in my assessment of you being intriguing. I look forward to your service."

"What do you mean?" I'm already uncomfortable with being in Snow's company, but I especially don't like where this is heading.

"You definitely have a way with words. Once this nasty business is over, and I come out victorious, I think that you would be a wonderful spokesman for the Capitol. A practical minister of propaganda if you will. Soon, you could easily replace Caesar Flickerman."

"Like hell I would work for you!" I snarl.

Snow answers my outburst with a cold glare. "The position is not voluntary. I promised Katniss that I would not harm you or Hawthorne. And like I said before, I am a man of my word. However, I have said nothing about leaving you two unaltered."

A chill runs up my spine at the last word. "Where does Gale come into this?"

"Well, in Mr. Hawthorne's case, it is apparent that he's quite exceptional at combat. He would be an excellent commando for important operations."

I have to give a mirthless laugh at that. "I you think Gale, of all people, is going to work for you, then you obviously don't know us at all."

"That's where the alteration comes in. In Hawthorne's case, it's not like he is going to have a big speaking position. So we have plenty of techniques to ensure obedience while keeping important skill sets intact.

"In your case, however, we can't be too aggressive with the techniques. So there are other ways of motivating people. Such as a certain adoptive family back in District Thirteen…"

_How the hell does he know about that?_ "Leave the Hawthornes out of this!"

"I don't think you have any choice in the matter, Mr. Mellark. Just know this: once I win, I win. I always get what I want. And I look forward to you being a nice obedient puppet.

"And you know what? I think it will be an interesting way of showing everybody that the Capitol owns you. That you are little more than a piece in our Games."

That wording's too exact to be coincidental. All this time, I thought the conversation was private, but they still managed to listen in. And now, Snow is taking perverse glee in the idea that he can change me into a monster. He's looking forward to using my own personal thoughts against me, as well as those remaining few people that I care for.

_The conversation was supposed to be mine and Katniss' alone. How dare he. HOW DARE HE! _

A ringing noise seems to settle in my ear, and I clench the handle of my cane tightly to anchor myself.

"I wish I was there…" I muse in the slightest of tones.

"What's that?"

I look up to face the tyrant directly in the eyes. The ringing sound intensifies as the edge of my vision becomes cloudy and the scent of blood and roses washes over me. My voice is still barely audible as I continue:

"I wish I was there so I can see the look on your face as your precious regime collapses around you; as your own citizens turn hostile. I wish I could be there as confidence turns to desperation and you attempt to futilely salvage what's left. I wish I could be there as your reign is officially no more."

"Now see here—"

I don't even bother raising my voice when cutting him off. "No you see, _Coriolanus_. Because, once that happens — once you can't even call yourself a master of your own household — you better pray that someone gets to you before I do. Because if you're still alive by the time I walk into that mansion, I will find you; there is no place you can hide. And once I get you, I will make you watch as I take everything you hold dear. Any accomplishment you make, I will tear down. Any name you have made for yourself, I will erase. Anything you love, I will eliminate. The name 'Snow' will be nothing but a pitiful footnote in the history books. And after that is all done, I _will_ kill you.

"I won't shoot, stab, or poison you. Oh no; that's too easy and impersonal. Instead, I will wrap my fingers around your throat until you choke on your own hate-laden blood. Until that smug grin of yours turns into a desperate grimace. Until the last light in those cold eyes flickers away to nothingness. Without any legacy to leave behind, you will be nothing. Nothing but a chunk of meat for the maggots. That is my promise."

I look up and around as a smile comes unbidden to my face. "Do you hear that, Coriolanus? It's the sound of your imminent demise. It's coming. And there's nothing you can do to stop it."

I take strong satisfaction as the amusement in Snow's eyes falters and is replaced by hardness.

"My… It seems that we aren't so different after all…"

And just like that, the ringing lifts away and my vision clears, leaving me with extreme horrid clarity of what I just said during my little lecture.

"We're nothing alike," I manage to whisper._ Are we?_

"Mmhmm…" He takes a look at his watch, and his amused disposition returns. "Well, it looks like I'll be heading out soon. This has been quite an… enlightening discussion, and I look forward to seeing you again."

I don't bother following him out. Instead, I manage to find enough of my voice to yell at the retreating figure, "We're nothing alike! DO YOU HEAR ME, SNOW? WE. ARE. NOTHING. ALIKE!"

As my words echo in the cavernous hall, Snow doesn't stop to turn around, or even slow his pace, when he responds with a chuckle, "You keep telling yourself that…"

Once he slips out of sight, I stumble backwards, collapse onto the ground, and cradle my head in my hands. _What the hell was that? What the hell did I just say? I sound like my mother!  
_

I take out the picture of Julian and look at it to remember the other promise I had made: that I would not lose myself in this war. _Am I already breaking that promise? _

Had Coriolanus Snow always intended to be a tyrant, or had the Capitol twisted him? Dure there were guys like Gallienus and Agrippa who were already rotten to the core. Still, the majority of the Snows looked like they had Panem's best intentions at heart. Even Justinian, who put down the First Rebellion and created the damn Games in the first place, appeared to care for the districts; if he hadn't been assassinated, the Games may have ended a long time ago. But in the end, it seems that absolute power eventually corrupted the Office of the President over time.

I wonder if all this political scheming will also turn me into some kind of monster. I'd rather die before that happens.

Several minutes pass after Snow's departure — I still haven't moved from my spot — when somebody casts a shadow over me. I don't bother looking to see who it is — probably Gale — when I mutter, "Yeah yeah, I know. I'll be up in minute."

"Well, don't be in such a hurry." The voice is dry… and decidedly female.

I look up in surprise and manage to croak, "Hey."

Katniss smirks a bit and returns my lame greeting before plopping down next to me on an especially mossy area; it makes me snort a bit considering the fancy silk gown she's wearing. Gale's indeed here, but he's busy standing a distance away off to the side while gaping at the building's interior.

"What do you think?" I ask her, as I gesture around at our surroundings.

She seems to look up in awe for a while. "It's beautiful."

"I think that I may prefer to have this as our Capitol. It probably wouldn't be too much work to fix things around here. Some renovations here, some rebuilding outside, and the city would probably be as good as new."

"I'd like to keep a good chunk of the forest around though."

I give her a wry smile at that. "Why am I not surprised? So… how are things going?"

We catch up on lost time. Katniss tells me how her family's doing, as well as the fact that Effie, Portia, and Avoxes have been helping her. I mention a bit of my work, as well as Gale being my student, which we have a good laugh over; from the scowl he's shooting us, I'm pretty sure he knows we're talking about him. We don't talk about her marriage or the baby growing within her. The conversation's about as mundane as can be, but — besides the fact that we aren't allowed to go any further than that — it's actually something that I need. I can feel myself being pulled back to reality just by her mere presence.

Katniss looks like she wants to say something more, something important, but she just settles on giving me a simple hug. It isn't anything more than what one would give a friend or family member, but I still savor it as energy seems to flow from her through me. With this close proximity, I notice that under the floral perfume she's wearing, she still has traces of the outdoors lingering about her.

As she breaks away, she mutters, "Remember to stay alive."

Such a simple phrase, but it's one that full of more meaning than most people can understand. It causes me to give her a genuine smile. "Thanks for the tip, sweetheart."

Both of us bark out a laugh at the slight ridiculousness of the memory clashing with the current situation, especially how tense things were when we last spoke those words. However, all things considered, the situation feels fitting. We don't say anything else when Katniss finally heads out. She stops briefly at the doorway, giving me a wave and sad smile which I instantly return, before being escorted out of sight. And the slight feeling of emptiness returns.

As I listen to the sound of a hovercraft lifting off and flying away, Gale trots over and offers a hand to help me up, which I take. _The sooner we head out, the better._

"What the hell happened?" he asks as I brush myself off.

"You saw what happened: Katniss and I caught up on stuff and said our goodbyes." I know that's not what he means, but I really don't want to get into it.

However, he's persistent. "I meant with Snow."

"I just had a nice little intellectual debate with our esteemed adversary," I say airily in an attempt to diffuse Gale's worried expression. When his expression doesn't relent, I sigh, wave my hand around dismissively, and say with the same airy tone, "Oh yeah, he may have threatened to turn us both into puppets of the Capitol, and I also _might_ have mentioned that I was looking forward to destroying everything he loves and personally choking the life out of him."

His eyes widen almost comically, but he keeps his response to a simple, "Oh…"

_Yeah. "Oh…" is about right.  
_

~oOo~

I'm relaxing in the observation room when Haymitch barges over to me.

"Alright, boy," he growls. "What the hell's going on?"

I was planning on explaining anyways but, just for the hell of it, decide to feign ignorance for a little while longer. "What do you mean?"

"Don't you play coy with me. Thirteen's to the east of us. So why are headed going southwest?"

That gets everybody else's attention. _Might as well spill the beans._ "Because we're going to Three."

Haymitch motions me to continue while mouthing_, "Why?"_

"I have an appointment in Central."

Comprehension finally begins to dawn on his face, with a dash of panic added in. "Why?" he repeats out loud.

"I'm going to convince them to join the side of the Rebellion."

Upon the last piece of news, he simply sinks into the nearest sofa and drags his hands over his face. Confusion is apparent on everybody else except for Beetee and Boggs.

"Boy, if we live through this…" Haymitch mutters as he shakes his head. "Next time you decide to do something suicidal, please leave me out."

* * *

**A/N: If you want more information on Centerpoint, check out the second chapter 'Unity' in the story "Seeds of Panem".**

**Also to better picture the surroundings, Centerpoint's Federal Legal Center is modeled after the Hagia Sophia; this is in contrast to the US Capitol which is likely modeled after St. Peter's Basilica, or the Centre Block which is an example of British Gothic Revival. **


	23. Central

As the hovercraft flies along the Great River, I gaze upon two slightly-curved pillars jutting out of the ground at East City's riverbank; their steel panels gleam in the late afternoon sunlight. Apparently they used to be part of a larger arch, but the keystone fell out during the Great Quake of 164. During that time, much of East City was devastated, necessitating the relocation of much of the population and industry to West City. In the years after, its focus was mainly manufacturing and serving as a freight hub for Three. Now, what remains of the city is in ruins. The only possible consolation for those living there is that West City is in even worse shape due to the decimation.

Even with the ceasefire, we have to remain careful as Three's still Capitol-held territory. So we actually wait until we've gone several miles south of East City before crossing the river into the district and heading straight west. Once we find the transport line that we're to follow towards Central, Beetee calls me up to the cockpit.

"You wanted to see me?" I ask when getting there.

He nods. "I want you to get a good idea of what you're getting into. We're starting to get pretty close, so it shouldn't be long until we're contacted."

Almost on cue, a dispassionate, almost bored, voice hails us. "Hovercraft-XIII32, please uncloak and state your intention, or turn around and go back to whatever hole you came from."

Beetee answers immediately in a just-as-dispassionate manner. "It seems you already know our name. It's just as fair that we know yours before revealing any details."

"This is Piasa-8. Now can you please state your intention?"

At Beetee's signal, the pilot flips a switch which supposedly uncloaks us. "This is Volts. I've come bearing a harmless baker who just wants to share bread with the Commander."

"Password?"

"There is none. Porus thinks such things are only good for dependant lackeys who can't think for themselves and deserve to be torn apart by mutts."

At once the voice becomes a lot chipper. "Beetee! Glad to have you back!"

"It's good to be back, Theodora. It seems you finally passed your pilot exam. Is it everything you hoped for?"

"Oh sure… Nothing like patrolling over the forest for twelve hours straight at a time." The comment drips with sarcasm. "Then again, I do get to fly the Piasa, and scaring the shit out of intruders has its perks."

"I'm sure it does… Can you lead us the rest of the way?"

"Sure thing. Just let me uncloak first."

Beetee quickly turns to the pilot. "Remember: Keep. This. Aircraft. Steady."

_Why are you being so insi—OH SHIT!_

The other aircraft, which I assume is the Piasa, uncloaks alright… It uncloaks just a couple meters in front of us with several large cannons trained directly on the cockpit. Our pilot lets off a loud and shrill string of curses, but actually manages not to convert his shock to his piloting skills.

After a moment, the guns retract and Theodora comes back on line. Cackling I might add. "Hey, did it work?"

Beetee looks us up and down before responding. "Sorry to say no bladders we loosened. But you definitely made quite an impression."

"Oh outsiders… You should have heard one Peacekeeper. He squealed like some Capitol girl and almost crashed his hovercraft in the process."

That actually makes the old victor let out a hearty chuckle. "Not so smug are they when up against something that shoots back."

"No they aren't. Well anyways, we're almost there. There's going to be a guide waiting there to take you the rest of the way."

"PleasenotLuciuspleasenotLucius…" he mutters under his breath.

"Yeah… Sorry."

"Dammit!"

"On the upshot, you can't say there won't be a warm welcome. Okay, slow down to thirty knots and prepare for landing."

The Piasa takes a sharp left turn where the transport line meets at an intersection. We're ordered to fly right over the train tracks. As we putter along, I see gun emplacements along the route swiveling to follow us like a line of predators watching their prey move by.

Theodora seems to sense a bit of my uneasiness, because she says apologetically, "Sorry about point defenses. You know the SOP."

"No worries," Beetee remarks nonchalantly. He nudges me to look ahead. "Welcome to Central, Peeta."

Viewing Central from the air is much different than viewing it from the confines of a train that passes into a tunnel before any appreciable observation can be given. The full realization of why nobody bothers with the spot hits me. Central isn't just a town with a military base attached; it's a fucking citadel. A high wall encircles the entire community, and I can spot more gun emplacements set at equal intervals around it. The more I look, the more I notice something else:

"Beetee, is it just me, or does the air around the place occasionally shimmer?"

He fixes me with a pleased expression. "I'm glad you noticed that. You should remember what it is; it _did _kill you once."

My jaw almost drops. "They put a force field around the place?"

"Why not? We were the ones to improve the technology. How else do you think I knew about the weak spot?"

There's a certain line at which preparedness turns into paranoia. I think those in Central crossed it a long time ago.

"Alright," Theodora announces, "I think you can handle yourselves the rest of the way. It's back to patrolling for me."

"Have fun…" Beetee chirps.

"Hahahagofuckyourself. Anyways, hope we catch up before you folks head out. See ya!" At that, the Piasa lifts up and recloaks itself as we approach the hanger. It's a long structure that appears to extend almost a mile past the defensive wall and over the train tracks, which explains why the view was blocked during the train ride and why the station felt like it was underground. Rows of unfamiliar, and fairly intimidating, aircraft can be seen parked in place as maintenance crews scurry around about their business.

When we cross the threshold another professional voice comes up. "Hovercraft-XIII32, prepare for remote override in 3… 2… 1… Remote override executed."

And just like that, control of the hovercraft is wrested away from our pilot and the vehicle appears to drive itself to its parking spot. A chill runs up my spine at that: if they so wish, the people here can keep us at their own convenience, and, considering how outnumbered we are, there's nothing we can do to stop them.

As there is nothing left to show me, Beetee motions me to go to the loading bay and tells everybody else over the intercom to do the same before he follows me there. While we wait as the hovercraft parks, he gives us some ground rules, with his voice surprisingly firm and authoritative during the lecture.

"Just remember, we are guests here at Central's convenience. They are not obligated to receive us, so your best behavior is expected. At the same time, act natural; we have a dim view of stuffiness and insincerity.

"Any weapon you have on you, you're allowed to carry with you for self-defense. However, initiating a fight with either the inhabitants or other guest is a severe breach of hospitality, which will not be tolerated.

"You may see some things which may bother you." For some reason, he seems to focus on Haymitch. "Well, keep it to yourself and try not to make a scene. It will endear you to nobody, and the point of this is to make a good impression.

"Also, related to that…" This time, his attention is firmly on me. "Just know that your petty notions of morality have no place here."

_Petty?_

I feel like spitting out a venomous retort, but manage to push it down in favor of something a bit more diplomatic. "What do you mean?"

"This is a place for scientific and technological progress. Morality is nice and all, but it can get a bit restrictive. Getting all moralistic here will be amusing at best and offensively condescending at worst."

"Doesn't it bother anybody that much of this 'progress' is all going into the Games though?"

"Of course it does. There's few things more degrading than watching your achievements being used for nothing more than entertainment for a bunch of hedonists. And it's not like the Capitol adopts even half of the working advancements developed. Lots of wasted potential..."

_That's not that I meant…_

Beetee seems to pick up on me finding his answer unsatisfactory. "But if you are talking about objection to the Capitol and Games themselves, why should Central object? Everybody's well-fed, nobody of age gets reaped, and we get to do what we do best: science. So unless things become personal, there's no reason to be pissed at the Capitol."

"I notice that you say 'we' a lot."

"I've lived and worked here all of my life as a victor. Hell, I've even helped give advice to the good commander during her reforms of the place. Despite my current living accommodations, I still consider Central my home."

"If that's the case, then why did you and Wiress get involved in the Rebellion?"

A pained expression briefly surfaces on his face. "Things became personal…"

As the door drops down, another question nags at me. "By the way, about this 'Lucius' person; you don't seem that eager to meet him. Something wrong with him?"

That earns a sigh. "Oh, he's a good kid. He's just a bit—"

"Uncle Thonsawan!"

Beetee just closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "… enthusiastic… Hi Luce."

"'Uncle'?" I whisper.

"No relation," Beetee mutters back.

Plutarch wasn't kidding when he said that the Guardians look different from everybody else. The first thing I notice is the color scheme. Instead of the white of the Peacekeepers, the gray of Thirteen's soldiers, or the ramshackle nature of the district rebels, the Guardians' uniforms contain a complex patterning consisting of various shades of greens, browns, and grays. And in general, their outfits appear to be much more utilitarian than what the Peacekeepers have.

The cheerful young man whom I assume is Lucius is even more lightly dressed, though it doesn't mean he isn't armed; I can already see a knife, pistol, and rifle on his person. In place of a helmet and rugged uniform of the guys around him, he wears a cap with the Chimera symbol embroidered on it and a dark short-sleeved uniform that reveals a myriad of tattoos covering his arms. An especially noticeable design is that of a draconic serpent looping up around the back of his neck to terminate with its head at the right base of his jaw. The other thing, besides his uniform, that seems to differentiate this guy from the other Guardians is the bag that's slung over his shoulder; on it is embroidered a serpent entwined around a staff.

Without any prior warning he runs over and picks Beetee up in a big bear hug. "We knew you'd come back!"

Beetee, to his credit, manages to keep his composure, though not before sending the rest of us a glare for chuckling at the scene that just unfolded. "It's good to see you too, kid. Though how many times do I have to tell you that 'Beetee' is perfectly sufficient?"

"But it feels so weird calling you that when you're over twice my age…"

"Well, using my last name really isn't that respectful when you keep mispronouncing it."

"Oh… I guess you may have a point there." Finally he seems to notice the rest of us, and that's where I understand what Beetee meant when he called Lucius "enthusiastic".

What follows is him gushing over our performance in our respective Games, be it Haymitch's trick with the force field or my camouflage skills. He then moves onto my performance during the Rebellion and how he's confident I'll get Katniss back. Even Gale gets some compliments for his performance during the propos. I don't know how long he yammers at us; I think I see one of the Gaurdians shaking his head and mouthing, "Sucks to be you…"

Finally, he seems to run out of compliments and introduces himself. "Name's Lucius Stone, but most people just call me Luce. Either works. I'm pretty much going to be your guide during your visit and will be happy to answer any questions. Well, unless they pertain to stuff you're not allowed to know. In which case, I'll probably have to kill you." He laughs, which makes the rest of us join him awkwardly. "No seriously, if you break any rules or anything, there will probably be a termination order on your head. And that would make me sad."

The causal way in which he says all of this is fairly disconcerting. At the same time, I've surrounded myself with people who wouldn't hesitate at taking another life, yet I still consider many of them my friends. So I don't really have any room to judge.

"I take it that there's a car waiting for us outside?" I ask as I take a couple steps to the exit.

"Stop!" Lucius' frantic outburst makes us all freeze in midstride as he brings out a basket with salted pieces of those square rolls. "You haven't had your bread yet."

"Consumption of salt and bread means you're officially a guest here," Beetee explains while pointedly looking at us in a manner which clearly states, _"So eat the damn bread."_

Now that I think about it, bread was offered to us before we got off the train during the Tour. I wonder if they cook up a giant batch of it just for the people who come during the reapings and Victory Tours.

After we all have had our bread, Lucius then gestures for us to follow him. Boggs and his soldiers elect to stay behind with the hovercraft — a move which isn't objected to — which leaves me with Beetee, Haymich, Gale, and the camera crew; fortunately, filming is allowed so long as nothing sensitive is recorded.

"I almost forgot to mention," Lucius states, "there's no car. Powers that be think that it would be healthier if we walk to the Tower. Besides, it will give us more time to see the sights."

For some reason, I have the feeling that just "seeing the sights" is not the reason she's making us walk. Oh well, it's just another challenge.

Entering from the hanger by foot definitely gives a better view of the community than entering from the train station by car. In front of us is a wide plaza that looks to be almost a mile long, and looming at the opposite end of said plaza is the Tower.

The absurdly tall structure — it looks like it rivals the Games headquarters in height — is clad in black stone with gold accents here and there, and three golden spires crown the top with the middle spire being twice the height of the other two flanking it. I previously just called it the Justice Building, but as both Beetee and Lucius explain, it not only houses the Office of the Mayor, but also the library, archives, Office of the Provost, Office of the Commander, residences of those in charge and the victors, and various other laboratories and offices. Over its imposing entranceway is a massive — large enough to discern from the distance I'm at — golden relief of the Chimera.

Without the banners, I can indeed see the Chimera all over the place. Mainly it's emblazoned on the side of buildings, but there are even statues, especially along the plaza as if standing sentinel; there's not a single trace of the Capitol's seal. Besides the Chimera, the adornments on the buildings tend to veer on the abstract side, with tons of geometric forms and streamlined figures. Most of the structures also appear to be covered in vegetation, as if nature had completely taken over the setting. Like the Tower, many buildings are built vertically though none even approach half of the its height. Despite the clear display of power, the buildings themselves still seem to be on the functional side, unlike the impractical forms in the Capitol.

I wonder how the community was able to secure the resources to build all of this.

Almost immediately, I also notice the marked difference between the people I saw during the Victory Tour and the actual inhabitants I see now. Whereas the impoverished Victory Tour crowd greeted us with heated enthusiasm, the clearly healthy people currently milling about the plaza gaze upon our motley crew with nothing more than benign interest. And unlike those in the hanger, the Guardians casually strolling around the place are dressed in a similar light manner as Lucius, which seems to hammer in the point that they are not there to put down unrest.

I'm interrupted from my thoughts by to a sharp intake of breath from Haymitch. For some reason he's gotten very pale and is looking at me with wide eyes. Beetee has his hand clasped on his shoulder and is muttering into his ear; probably some reminders of the rules.

Lucius, who seems completely oblivious to this, cheerfully points in my direction. "Hey, you made a friend!" I take a look at what he's pointing at and immediately figure out what has gotten into Haymitch.

Sitting on my shoulder is a small candy-pink bird with a long and very sharp-looking beak. There's no mistaking it: it's the same kind of muttation that killed Maysilee Donner.

Judging from Lucius' and Beetee's relaxed attitude — barring the latter focused on keeping my mentor from having a complete freakout — there shouldn't be any cause for concern; in fact, I now notice a considerable number of them flitting above us. However, considering what I have seen that thing capable of, I still have to exert some considerable self-control to keep from making a scene.

_Pleasedon'tkillmepleasedon'tkillmeplease…_

However the bird just cocks its head at me and trills out a melodious tune before setting off to join its buddies in the air. Though not before taking several strands of my hair with it. At this point, I don't even bother trying to fend birds off — and not just because I'm concerned about making a scene — and simply focus on ignoring the suppressed sniggers coming from Gale and Beetee.

_What the hell kind of place sets dangerous mutts loose within its walls? _

To top things off, I actually see people casually feeding them and other creatures that look too bizarre to not be muttations. There are even kids throwing chunks of meat to those squirrels from the Quell.

As a way to distract myself from that disturbing scene, I try to find something else to focus on.

"Out of curiosity, what does that supposed to represent?" I ask while pointing to that serpent emblem on Lucius' bag.

"Oh this? It's the asklepian that represents my corpsman status." He acts as if that explains everything… which it doesn't.

Fortunately, Beetee elaborates in simpler terms. "He's a combat medic, and that bag's his medical supply kit. A corpsman is simply a Guardian who has additional medical training."

"Exactly! So I can heal you as easily as I can kill you!" Lucius chirps then pauses. "On, second thought, it's still probably way easier to kill you, but the healing's more rewarding."

_Cheery thought._ "I take it that's what the serpent on your neck for?"

"Nope. My asklepian's firmly on my back. This," he gestures to his neck, "is part of the Chimera that's on the front. I'd show you, but I can't exactly take my uniform off while on duty"

"You guys really seem to like your tattoos." Seriously, everybody I see, be they security or civilian, seems to have some sort of tattoo visible on them. Even young kids have some small simplistic designs which will no doubt be elaborated on down the road.

"Well, what better way to show our loyalty than going through the pain of putting an indelible mark of identity on our very bodies?"

_If that's the case…_ "What about you, Bee—"

My query is cut short as Beetee anticipates my question and pulls up his sleeve with a smirk. On the underside of his wrist is a small chimera. "Really, Peeta… Considering that you helped strip me naked once, I'm pretty surprised you never noticed it before."

"Well, naked you wasn't exactly something I wanted to focus on. Also, I was a bit… preoccupied with, you know, the fact that you were covered in blood and bleeding to death at the time. A design like that is kind of easy to miss."

"With good reason. You already know that the Capitol doesn't like others knowing about Central. Being a victor-slash-mentor meant that I couldn't afford to show it off on Capitol television. And in case you're wondering, Wiress also had one just like this."

At the mention of her name, Lucius' jovial attitude crashes and burns. "By the way, I'm really sorry about Aunt Sherzai."

Beetee just waves him off. "You weren't the one who killed her, and she knew the risks."

That rationale doesn't dispel the morose expression on his face. "Still… Both of you have done so much around here. Do you know before she left, she helped fix my communicator?"

If that comment was supposed to segue into a less depressing topic, it sure worked, though probably not in the intended manner. "You broke it _again_? How the hell did you do that? Those are supposed to be practically indestructible!" Beetee looks like he's about to throttle the poor guy.

Lucius, in a panic, just waves his hands in front of him in a half-placating, half-defensive manner. "Hey, '_practically_ indestructible' doesn't ensure full indestructibility." That just seems to rile Beetee up further. "Also, it wasn't completely my fault this time! The report backs me up!"

Beetee stops advancing, but he doesn't look any less ticked. "Does Joseph know?"

The panic on Lucius' face doubles at that query. "If you're this angry, how do you think Joe would react if he found out?"

"I'm not angr—" Beetee's interrupted by me and Haymitch silently calling him out on his bullshit. He takes a moment to take in a few deep breaths. "Okay maybe I'm a bit angry. It's just that you're sometimes a bit of a hazard to yourself and others. I'm concerned about you, that's all." _Says the guy who attacked me with a crowbar just to test one of his devices…_

"Sorry…"

"It's alright. On second thought, I probably don't want to know how you broke your communicator. And no, I won't tell Joseph."

"Also, please don't tell Mom."

"You don't have to worry about that. So, Wiress really fixed it?"

"Actually, I think she made some improvements in the transmission and clarity. So it works even better than before. She was always so helpful. Lots of people here miss her… I know I do…" He fiddles aimlessly with his uniform.

"I know," Beetee says as he gently pats the guy on the back. "She was the more social one of us. And yeah, I miss her too."

Suddenly Lucius' attitude seems take an abrupt upswing when he turns to me. "At least your girlfriend killed the asshole directly responsible!"

I don't think that's something Katniss is proud of, but I don't have the heart to mention it. So I decide to change the subject onto something a bit more trivial that I notice whenever Lucius speaks.

"Have you ever thought it interesting that you seem to have a bit of a Three accent?" In fact, that slightly musical drawl — eerily similar to what we have in Twelve, now that I think about it — that I've come to associate with District Three seems to take full precedence, with very little trace of the solid tones that seem to characterize individuals from Two.

He just shrugs at that. "Never really noticed. Any reason it interests you?"

"I just expected something a bit more… Two-ish," I explain — rather lamely — which just makes him chortle.

"Well, it wouldn't make much sense for me to have a Two accent considering that I was born in the Capitol."

_Wait, what?_ "Really? You definitely sound nothing like that."

"Yeah, well Mom brought me here when I was eight. That would make it a little over… eleven years. I think. Or is it fourteen? Thirteen?"

After a while, he actually looks a bit confused, which just makes Beetee grumble in an irate tone, "You're able to identify every muscle in the human body and can diagnose various venomous bites, but you can't subtract eight from twenty. Why am I not surprised?"

"Hey, arithmetic kills your soul! Fact," Lucius counters while nodding earnestly at me. Finally, he snaps his fingers as if coming across some life-changing epiphany. "Twelve! Yeah, that's it: me and my sis have lived here for over twelve years. So enough time to wash away any trace of a Capitol accent. Frankly, I'm not exactly complaining."

_I don't exactly blame him._ "In other words, you've been here for most of your life then."

"Yep! Wouldn't trade it for anything, either. Great place, great people… Heck, the victors have been like parents — no more than Mom, of course — ever since I got here."

Well that explains the titles, plus the way he and Beetee have been able to banter like that. The victor never seemed to allow anybody to get close to him, much less give him a bear hug.

"Fat load of good that did," Beetee grumbles a bit more. "Since you were intent on joining the Corps, I hoped that you'd become a combat engineer. But nooo… you just had to go and take the medical path."

"Aw… you know my sister's better suited for the whole engineering thing."

"True. And in the end, it's probably for the best; otherwise, I wouldn't be surprised if you accidentally get the whole citadel blown up. Anyways, I can't say I'm not proud of you. You especially proved yourself several month ago."

"I was just doing my job," Lucius mutters with a shrug. This is followed with a shudder. "And the less that's brought up, the better. Though speaking of medical stuff…"

He turns to me. "I have a couple things to bring up. First, I noticed that your prosthesis seems to be acting up."

I brush off his concern. "It's not that bad." Which is a complete lie. While functional, the thing's starting to seize up more. The last thing I need is for it to fail me in a life-or-death situation.

"Your gait says otherwise. That's why I'm offering to have your leg replaced."

"Really?" That seems pretty generous.

"Yeah, really. And you don't have to worry about cost. Think of it as a token contribution to your efforts." _Assuming that I can get you guys on our side._ "That, and the guys in Medical are developing a new prototype and want a test subject."

"Oh." Suddenly the offer doesn't sound as altruistic. Then again, things can't be much worse than what I have now. "Sure, if it's allowed."

He seems ecstatic at my acceptance. "Don't you worry about that. I'll also let the Medical know as soon as possible. Just some forewarning:" He lowers his voice to a whisper. "They're kinda weird…"

I decide not to voice my thoughts on that last statement of his. "Was there something else?"

"Oh yes! Primrose? Katniss' sister?"

"What about her?" I ask cautiously.

"Well, from her interviews during both Games, it's clear that she has amazing medical expertise for her age. Many folks here are impressed. So once this is all over, if she wants, she's free to come here to study. We'll smuggle her in if need be."

Now _that's_ a generous offer. And knowing Prim, she'd probably jump at the opportunity. "Well, we have to win this first."

"True. Just saying that the offer's on the table."

"Thanks." _And I really mean it._

He just gives me a wide grin. "No problem. Oh, we're here by the way."

As we get closer to the Tower, Lucius' demeanor shifts drastically. His smile slips away and is replaced by a mask of cold professionalism, and his posture straightens out. And once we reach the base of the Tower's steps, he stops and stands at attention to salute the woman waiting several steps above up.

Haymitch once joked that Porus was simply an older version of Katniss with a tan. I can see where's he's coming from. The woman is short and petite, and she has her straight black hair in a braid; not to mention the perpetual scowl she seems to wear. However that's where most of the similarities end. In contrast to Katniss' usual scowl of irritation, the look that Porus has reminds me of a predator that sees an uninvited visitor wandering into her territory. Instead of hanging down freely, her braid's wrapped in a tight wreath at the back of head. Her brown eyes don't soften the hard glare that she gives us; if anything, they are dark enough to give the impression of being fathomless pools lacking any sort of pity.

Beetee said that she was appointed here just a couple months after Snow came to power — apparently, she was just as intimidating during Haymitch's Tour as she is today — which means that she has be at least fifty. However, she doesn't look any older than forty. Instead of the white Head Peacekeeper uniform she wore during the Tour, what she has on now is an olive-green uniform consisting of a coat and full-length skirt, as well as a sword that hangs off her coat belt. Despite her age, stature, and current outfit, I have a strong feeling that she's perfectly capable of personally kicking my ass, and I have no intention of testing out that feeling.

None of that is more physically distinguishing than the ornate mark in the middle of her forehead. I have no clue what it means, but it probably has some strong significance.

Flanking her are Jon Charlton, Mayor of District Three, and Andri Lewis, Provost of R&D Affairs. I'm informed that, while Mayor Charlton officially did not support the Rebellion, it was clear that he turned a blind eye to the protests in the cities, as well as later developments leading up to the outbreak of war. I know nothing of Provost Lewis other than her simply in charge of managing research that goes on here as well as procurements from the Capitol. In the end though, it's clear which one of the three is in charge of Central itself.

Also laying at Porus' feet are two of the most bizarre dogs I've ever seen. They're tan in overall coloring, yet there is a set of black stripes that go along their backs all the way to the base of their stiff tails. Not to mention that a normal dog should not be able to open its mouths that wide while yawning. Must be a form of mutt.

Porus is the first to break the silence. "At ease, Stone." Almost immediately, Lucius' posture relaxes, though the air of professionalism doesn't go away, nor does he acknowledge us.

The next person she addresses is Beetee. To my surprise, she actually greets him with considerable warmth. "Beetee, it's good to see you. I trust you are well?"

"It's good to see you too, Porus, and I'm quite glad to be home again. I do wish the circumstances were better, though."

"Don't we all…" Upon glancing back at the rest of us, the hardness in her eyes returns. "Can't say that I'm glad to see the rest of you. Didn't I tell you not to bring trouble here, Mellark?"

_Okay, show no weakness._ "You did, during the Tour, Ma'am. However recent events currently make this unavoidable." I manage to keep my voice even, despite my fraying nerves.

"Do they?"

"I believe so. In any case, I'm grateful that you've decided to receive us anyways, if only to talk."

Porus seems to appraise me for the longest time before making a noncommittal grunt. "Yes, well, we'll see how grateful you are when this is over." She gestures towards me, and only me, to follow her as she turns back to the Tower. "Let's not waste any more time. Stone, you and Beetee can show the rest of the visitors around. I'm giving them Class-II clearance. Dismissed."

"Yes, Commander." After Lucius gives another salute, it's as if a switch is flipped, and he's back to his cheerful self as he leads everybody else to wherever.

Leaving me to go wander into the dragon's den alone.

* * *

**A/N:If you don't know what a Piasa is, I suggest looking up an image of it. The Mississippian Culture mythological beast is known from a cliff painting and, in general, extremely freaky in appearance. So a natural name for an aircraft designed to intercept and intimidate others.  
**

**I have a weak spot for art deco.**

**Despite the movie casting, I still consider both Beetee and Wiress to be Asian in ethnicity; at the same time, I don't believe Three to be mainly populated with Asians. In my case, Beetee's SE Asian and Wiress is Pashtun in ethnicity. I also don't think it's that hard for surnames and certain cultural practices to survive both the Cataclysm and the Dark Days; Porus' bindi being another such example. **

**If it's not apparent, the Guardians are loosely based off the USMC, complete with something similar to MCCUUs; of course in this case, the corpsmen are not from a separate branch. To further the real-world analogues, I consider the Peacekeepers most similar to the Iranian Republican Guard/Basiij (****Sch**utzstaffel is a bit cliche), Thirteen to the Red Army, and the rebels to your run-of-the-mill irregular force. 


	24. Persuasion

There were many settings that I expected to have my discussion/debate with Central's commander: an office desk, a conference room, an interrogation chamber…

What I did not expect was for her, as we head towards the entrance, to ask this: "Have you eaten anything recently, Mellark?"

"Well, I've had some ration packs on the way, ma'am." _Mmm… just like home… not._ Then again, it's not like it's any worse than what I always have in Thirteen.

Porus seems to think the same and scoffs, "That hardly sounds substantial. In which case, would you like to have our discussion over a meal?"

The offer sounds really tempting, but I have a strong suspicion — I've been having a lot of suspicions lately — that it matters a lot as to what kind of answer I give and how I phrase it; the way that Porus seems to be analyzing my every move gives some weight to my suspicions. On one hand, to refuse would no doubt be insulting to my host; also my stomach is starting to become distressingly audible. On the other hand, to accept outright would probably come across as being greedy; that and also this seems the type of place where accepting something without question puts one within a dangerous debt.

So I decide to make things a bit open-ended. "If it's not too much trouble for you, I would find that most welcome."

She actually seems to give a slight appreciative nod at my response. "Not at all. And in case you are wondering, your companions will most likely be taken out to dinner during this time anyways. Now if you'll follow me…"

Passing through the threshold, I can't help but continue to compare my current experiences with those of the Tour. Yeah, there are no Peacekeepers milling about or Capitol banners covering everything up. But as we enter the spacious main hall, my mind still hearkens back to the dinner we had in the middle of that very space. Admittedly, it's a bit silly considering that — besides the restless crowds and Porus' frigid reception — the whole visit here was pretty unremarkable. But I guess I'm condemned to look at everything in relation to the Games.

Unlike the exterior, the hall is clad in polished stones in various light shades of red and tan. It runs the entire front-to-back length of the building and, at what look to be about a hundred feet, seems to be as high as it's wide. Columns rise up three quarters, with the top quarter being taken up by mural that appears to portray the history of science and technology. Other than the mural — even that's fairly stylistic — the geometric theme that seems an architectural hallmark of the community pervades the interior, from the columns to the ceiling, which has a fairly enigmatic set of designs on it. At the opposite end, a floor-to-ceiling window casts down dappled light and seems to bathe the immediate area in a slight blue-green glow, which contrasts with the warm yellow given off by the light fixtures. It takes several moments to realize that the area beyond the window is an aquatic environment complete with what seems to various creatures swimming around; some of them look pretty big.

As tempted as I am to run over there and press my face up against the glass to watch the fish swim by, we don't get anywhere near the window. In fact, once we enter into the hall, I only get a brief amount of time to take in everything before we immediately take a hard right to reach an elevator. Charlton and Lewis go their separate ways, leaving just us two and the dogs to enter the transport.

Yeah, I've ridden in glass elevators many times before, and yeah the place where I've ridden them is a spot that I'm not too fond of. That doesn't mean that the novelty has worn off. So I have a barely-suppressed feeling of giddiness as we lift up.

_Wheee…_

With the doors being glass as well, I can see in all directions. Above the hall, we pass through several floors of an extensive library, then a dark shaft, before emerging out into the open to allow me to see the landscape unfolding before me as we climb up the corner of the building; I think I can spot the guys from here.

"Enjoying the view?" Porus' dry tone makes me break my concentration to look back at her.

I give her a wry smile. "Am I that apparent?"

Her stoic expression doesn't change one bit. "Yes."

_You must be the life of the party…_ I decide that it's best that for me not to voice that opinion.

"Oh, by the way…" I unclasp the box attached to my side and offer it to her. "This is for you."

When the commander makes no move for the gift, I feel the need to add, "I'm not trying to bribe you or anything. Think of it as a token of appreciation for receiving us."

Fortunately, that explanation appears satisfactory as she takes the box and opens it up, revealing a set of various cookies. Unlike the ones made for my district visits, which are now mostly done by Thirteen's cooks, these were solely made by me.

What surprises me a bit is that, as the elevator slows to a stop and we step into a foyer, she immediately takes one out and bites into it.

After she finishes it off she comments, "I have to say, it appears that your culinary reputation is quite justified."

"Thanks."

My bemusement must show, because she asks, "Something the matter?"

"I'm just a bit surprised you didn't screen it for contaminants or anything."

"Well, it would be fairly counterproductive and idiotic for you to poison me. And I don't take you for an idiot."

That statement reeks of overconfidence, but it isn't exactly false. Besides it being wrong, I have nothing to gain from poisoning Porus. Even if we were somehow able to escape the place in time, the fact remains that we would likely have Central firmly as an active enemy, making the Rebellion even hander to win. Not to mention that there's a huge likelihood that a vacancy would Snow allow to appoint a commander that's more in-step with him. Which makes me wonder…

"If you don't mind me asking, do you screen the food the Capitol gives you?"

"Yes."

Porus' frankness takes me aback. She has to know that stating that her distrust of the Capitol potentially gives me ammo to use. Though at the same time, it's possibly non-news considering that Central doesn't seem to trust any outsider. And from her lack of hesitation with the cookies, it's obvious that she doesn't see me as a personal threat. Well, it's nice to not be viewed with suspicion for a change; I just hope that doesn't translate to her thinking me weak.

I'm instructed to take off my shoes before we proceed further. After removing my boots and sock, and hanging my coat up — since there are no cameras, there's really no need to wear it; also, Porus is doing the exact same thing, though it looks like her shirt is still part of her uniform — I follow the commander into another spacious and high-ceilinged room that must not only her office, but Central's version of Command. An ornate desk, which is most likely the commander's, is situated in front of a window that overlooks the plaza, while a large conference table is smack dab in the middle of the room. Despite its purpose, and the all-black scheme — it must be a bitch to keep spotless — the place actually looks a bit cozy. On each side there are bookshelves, sofas, and various works of art; on the side opposite from Porus' desk, there's a set of pictures and awards placed on the wall.

"We aren't going to talk here. I just need to take care of something; it will only be few minutes," Porus says as she places my box of cookies on her desk. "So you are free to wander around this room. In case you need to go to the restroom, and also to wash your hands, take the first door to your right." With that, she heads into what looks like a kitchen — the smell of spices that briefly washes over me increases my pangs of hunger several-fold — leaving me to my own devices.

I don't know how many minutes pass. So I pass the time by relaxing on the couch, browsing through the book collection, looking at the different sculptures and paintings, taking a leak, looking out the window, attempting to ignore the unnerving stares that those dogs are giving me, and mulling over how Porus is practically treating me like a welcome guest in her home — even if her personality still leaves a bit to be desired — in contrast to earlier when she looked ready to kill me.

Suddenly it occurs to me that this _is_ her house in the strictest sense; the Commander actually lives on this floor. Seriously, why else would there be a kitchen and a fully-stocked bathtub and shower in the restroom? Hell, she probably uses this main conference space as a living room. Even for mixing life and work, it all seems a tad… much.

_This coming from the guy who sleeps in a library._

_Oh… right… nevermind._

Since I haven't been there yet, I decide to walk over to look at the pictures. In contrast to the commander's fairly stony disposition, this spot is surprisingly sentimental. The picture in the very center is of a young boy giving a gap-toothed grin as he holds up a grumpy younger girl — she doesn't look any older than four or five — who's obviously trying to squirm out of his grasp. Apparently the pictures surrounding the central one are of them as they grow up — paired vertical lines on the wall denote years; the very middle line's labeled "192" — with those of the girl being on the left and the boy on the right.

I decide to take a look at the girl's side first, taking in all of the activities she's doing: playing around with an apparently younger Beetee and Wiress, walking through a forest, tinkering about in a lab, having what looks disturbingly like tracker jackers flying around her… When I move to the boy's side, I find something distinctly familiar about him…

"… _me and my sis have lived here for over twelve years."_

Sure enough, not only do the later pictures make it pretty apparent who it is, but all the athletics trophies and various certificates are addressed to "Lucius Stone". Looking back at the awards issued to the girl — most of which happen to be science-related — I see that they are labeled "Lucia Stone", which confirms my following thought that she must be the sister he talked about; someone wasn't exactly creative in the naming department.

_And if that's the case, then "Mom" must be… _

With mounting mortification, I take a brief look around at the room as everything falls into place.

_Oh, you got to be kidding me! Mr. Happy-go-lucky is the son of Commander Hardass? _

Though something doesn't quite add up about Porus being their mother. If she's been here since at least the Second Quarter Quell, why would they be in the Capitol till they were eight and five-ish? Not to mention that Lucius and Porus look nothing alike.

I file that away for later as I take a look at Lucius' photos: him being hoisted on someone's shoulders during a big group picture of the Guardians, Wiress giving him a stethoscope as a gift, him in his fatigues with a squad… Out of all the pics, there's only a couple where he doesn't look cheerful. In one, it's because he's standing at attention at what has to be his graduation ceremony. In the other, he has an expression of grim determination as he carries a bloodied and, from the looks of it, barely conscious kid across his shoulders; considering how recent the picture looks, I wonder if that's the incident Beetee was mentioning.

There's an article underneath the picture but, before I can read what it's about, I hear a throat being cleared behind me. I whip around to see Porus looking at me with an unreadable expression. Before I can stammer out an apology or something, she just beckons for me to follow her some more; the damn creepy dogs just trot alongside me. When we get to the elevator, I'm about to reach for my boots but am informed that they won't be needed where we're going.

As we move into the elevator, Porus finally states, "In case you're wondering: yes, I consider those two my children, and, no, I did not give birth to them. They are siblings, and we are related, though. In any case, if you want to know more, I'd rather them give the details of the whole thing."

"How did you know—"

"Considering how much Luce — bless his heart — likes to talk, and from the your expression while looking at the pictures, it makes sense that you not only put two and two together but also realized that something did not add up." She lays this out all matter-of-factly while pressing a button and giving me the same unreadable look as the elevator continues on up. "Like I said before: I don't take you for an idiot."

Now that I think about it… it almost looks like her expression holds a slight degree of… respect?

"Though if you're family, why did you two act so formally earlier?"

"Why wouldn't we? My son was on duty, and as… excitable as he may be, he knows how to separate his personal and professional life. Unless there are extenuating circumstances, to set aside standard protocol just for the sake of familial ties is nepotistic and sets a dangerous precedent."

After a short trip up, and when the elevator stops after going into another dark shaft, we finally disembark and I look around in wonder. It turns out that our destination is a lush rooftop garden. Except here, instead of arranged flowerbeds and potted trees, the garden has an almost wild and untamed nature to it. Colorful birds flit from tree to tree while luminescent fish swim around in a clear pond that circulates via a bubbling creek. I can also see why Porus instructed me to leave my shoes behind; there's no dirt up here, and the cool softness of the lawn — whatever it is, it's pretty fragrant when disturbed and definitely not grass — feels wonderful underneath my foot.

From the center of the garden, the only sign that we are actually on top of a skyscraper are the three massive spires. It turns out that the two smaller ones are not only where one exits out of the elevators — I assume the other side's usable as well — but are actually Chimeras looking out with their wings stretched straight upwards; unlike the main emblem, one of them — the one we exited out of — appears to be solely mechanical while the other's solely animalistic. I can't really tell what the big spire's supposed to be, or if it's supposed to be anything, but judging from the way there seems to be a subtle rippling effect radiating outwards from the tip, it appears that it's at the very center of the force field.

After allowing me to wander around and gawk like a little kid surrounded by cakes, Porus motions towards a table situated at the far end of the garden. I take a seat and, out of habit, reach my hand out over the edge. Nothing happens.

"If you wish, you're perfectly free to jump off this building," Porus tells me while she fiddles with something on the table.

_Was… was that a joke? _

I shake that thought out of my head and instead focus on the landscape below us.

Unlike the mostly urban part of Central that I've seen so far, at whole southern half of the citadel actually looks to be a mixture of wilderness and patches of farmland. Looking straight down, I realize that the aquatic environment I saw through the window earlier comes from a good-sized lake which flows into a much larger one that's azure with a dark blue center and looks to be ringed with a mixture of sandy beaches, rocky shoreline, docks, and swampland; it dimly registers that the larger lake must be a mini sea like during the Quell.

Even though there are no massive mountains like in the Capitol, the area past the circular wall is no less beautiful to behold. Forest-covered rolling hills extend as far as I can see. In contrast to the lush greenery within the force field, autumn has already begun to turn the forest into a mosaic of various hues of yellow, orange, red, and purple intermixing with the green. To top things off, the sun's already getting pretty low, casting a buttery light on everything and illuminating the edges of the clouds. Soon it will hit the horizon and paint the sky with a myriad of warm colors to contrast with the coolness of the approaching night.

I wish I had my painting supplies with me.

I'm jolted from my musings when the middle of the table irises out, leaving a gaping hole there. A few seconds later, a turntable laden with food lifts up and locks into place.

Still, I pause a bit when taking in the dishes provided; even after all the things I've tried in the Capitol, I haven't seen anything like this. Besides our eating implements, on the turntable is a bowl of rice, a basket full of various large leavened and unleavened flatbreads, fried pastries, a pitcher, condiments, and several bowls full of different fragrant stews. I'm also at a loss for words as Porus hands me my plate, glass, and napkin… but no utensils.

So as not to make a fool out of myself, I instead watch what my host is doing first: rinsing her hands in a little automatic fountain to the side before drying them off, ladling rice onto her plate followed by one of the stews, then ripping a piece off her flatbread to use as a one-use spoon. I decide to follow suit.

_Heh… if only Effie could see this._

After who-knows-how-many months of the tasteless gruel Thirteen calls "food", I find myself not being able to stop once I've started. It takes everything within me not to be like Katniss and groan ecstatically whenever I taste something new.

_Fuck yeah, flavor!_

I begin by ladling all three stews provided onto my rice. One has pieces of chicken in a thick creamy gravy that has hints of cashews, tomato, and butter; the next is cubes of lamb in a mildly spicy crimson sauce; the last is simply stewed greens with butter; all are laden with spices and extremely hearty. I keep alternating between the fluffy leavened flatbread or the thin unleavened cornbread; both have been liberally brushed with butter. Next are the pastries — each one stuffed with spiced potatoes, peas, and other veggies — which I eat with the various sauces provided. In between each dish, I often take a gulp of the sweet — with some spice that I can't put my finger on — frothy yoghurt drink provided by the pitcher; not only is it refreshing, but helps keep the spices at a tolerable level. After trying everything once, I simply start picking dishes at random.

As I'm on my third round of the chicken stew, I feel something on my knee. I look down to see one of the dogs laying its head on my knee and looking at me with the most plaintive expression.

However, as I reach for a chunk of sauce-laden bread, Porus simply says, "Don't."

"What?"

"Don't give them any food. It'll spoil them."

So, with a shrug, I settle for scratching it behind the ears. "Well, it seems to be an interesting mutt."

"Except they aren't. Other than a few behavioral modifications in their progenitors to make them receptive to domestication, those thylacines are not mutts."

I can hardly follow Porus' explanation besides those dogs — I don't care what she called them; they're dogs — not being mutts, so I just nod my head and continue to pet the dog as I eat.

In any case, it's not like there's anything left to give them. Before I know it, everything has been cleared out, with me admittedly taking the largest share. Once we load all the dirty dishes back onto the turntable, it drops down to what I assume is the kitchen. However, after we rinse our hands off, another takes its place. This time, there's a tea set and various small dishes of what I guess are snacks and dessert.

_The best part of dinner and not a moment too soon._

As I'm pouring myself a cup of tea, the sun has just hit the horizon and is now working its magic on the sky. I can't resist smiling as I see the bands of purple, magenta, and just that right shade of orange cast the clouds into deep contrast and juxtapose with the slowly-darkening mass of indigo overhead. Soon lanterns nearby turn on to keep us illuminated.

Like everything else, the rich tea's good but a bit different than what I'm used to; it's milky and already laden with sugars and spices such as cinnamon, cloves, ginger, and that same unknown one from the yoghurt drink. It's provided with various savory cookies to dip in it. The desserts are already placed in separate plates for us, thankfully with spoons. One dish seems to be a caramelized fried ball of dough soaked with sweet spiced syrup, while the other's some kind of rice pudding garnished with raisins and nuts; the latter especially helps in getting rid of any spices from the main course.

"Out of curiosity, are these dishes a Central specialty?" I ask as our empty dessert dishes are sent back down, leaving just the tea set on the table. The food seems like a silly thing for the Capitol to block during the Tour dinner.

"Not at all; for one thing, most people here like their tea iced. No, this cuisine was something brought over by my ancestors to America, long before there were even rumblings of the Cataclysm on the horizon."

I'm a bit surprised that the recipes were able to survive all that intact. "Well, in any case, this was an excellent and delicious meal." I mean it; I'm freaking stuffed.

She gives me a slight nod. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_. You really didn't have to do this."

"Actually I did."

_Huh?_ "What do you mean?"

"When you arrived here, it was clear that you were not in the best of shape. At the very least, you were obviously hungry. And there was no point in wasting my time with you if you're not functioning properly."

The idea of that makes me chuckle a bit, though that dies down when I see the cold expression on the commander's face.

"Is there something I said that you find amusing?"

_Shitshitshit…_ "Not at all." When she looks unconvinced, I clarify: "It's just that in any debate, one would normally wants the other side to be in a weakened state for the sake of making things easier."

Porus sets her teacup down and fixes me with a withering glare. "Listen here, Mellark: this is not some little political debate where we need to convince a group of gullible lemmings for the sake of points or a vote; there are no sponsors here to impress. This is you attempting to convince me to make a pretty big, and potentially risky, decision. I did not grant you an audience just for the sake of winning an argument out of pettiness. What benefit do I get from that? None at all."

"If that's the case, why did you react to Rebellion's earlier overtures with hostility?"

She snorts. "Because that buffoon and his lackeys not only kept coming at me with the same recycled drivel over and over again, but had the gall to do so with an insincere and arrogant demeanor. Now I'm giving you a chance to offer me something fresh. Something new.

"If it turns out that a point of yours is better for Central than the alternative, why should I not take it? To make a decision solely on pride is a very pathetic and dangerous thing to do. So I trust you to lay everything out on the table so I can make a decision that is as informed as possible. And the only way you can lay everything out in the most coherent manner is if you're functioning at your fullest potential. So besides the fact that I would be a poor host to not offer my guest something, this meal was to bring you back up to capacity. Did it work by the way?"

"It… actually did." It's amazing how much a substantial and tasty meal can invigorate a person in a relatively short amount of time.

"In which case, let's get to the business at hand." She doesn't waste any time getting to the point. "So you want us to join the Rebellion." That was not a question.

I decide to pour myself another cup of tea. I'm going to need all the energy I can get. "Yes."

"Why exactly do you want us to join your fight? Before you say anything, I'm not asking you to begin persuading just yet. Right now, just tell me the reason that you want Central on the side of Rebellion. Be honest."

She doesn't interrupt me as I explain the current situation of Rebellion, which is not too good. My view is that Central's active role on the side of the Rebellion would provide a much-needed boost to the fight and, at the same time, help in crippling the Capitol. There's the obvious reason in that weapons, supplies, and logistics would be provided to the Rebellion instead of the Capitol. However, there's also the fact that making Central's territory hostile to the Capitol would remove an important corridor and stopping point for Peacekeeper forces; conversely, it would provide a secure corridor for Rebellion forces. I do make it clear that I'm not asking for the Guardians to get directly involved in the fighting in an offensive manner; I understand that they are here to keep the place secure and that demanding that they participate undermines that.

Porus seem to wait for a couple minutes to make sure that I've had my say before remarking, "You are the first person to actually not demand that I directly risk my troops; I appreciate that. Same goes for your honesty about the state of the Rebellion. Now I'd like to say a few things:

"I'm responsible for the wellbeing of over fifteen thousand citizens in this community: scientists, engineers, Guardians, and townfolk alike. By actually siding with either faction in full, I place all of them under significant risk; this is especially true should the faction I'm supporting loses. You said it yourself that the condition of the Rebellion leaves much to be desired. So how do we know that our presence would be enough to change things for the better?

"Because if we join you, and your side loses, it is clear that we will have just succeeded in painting a big target on ourselves for the Capitol. There is no doubt that the workers here are indispensable; the same can't be said for their loved ones however. My Guardians don't even have that luxury; they and their families would no doubt be considered traitors to be executed or Avoxed.

"Of course you can be sure that we wouldn't willingly hand ourselves over. However, what is everyone here to do: flee into the wilderness? Because while many of us do have survival skills, leading the whole community out is a highly-visible recipe for disaster. I wouldn't even put it past Snow to firebomb the entire forest if we escape. It doesn't help that District Three is surrounded on all sides by districts, and we don't have enough aircraft to airlift the entire population in one short move. So unless we plan on having a large exodus towards the Confederacy, something which would no doubt incur massive casualties, the reality is that we are trapped. I and a select few would probably be able to make it out or hide, but I don't intend to go down that path.

"Armed resistance is also out of the question. Yes we have advanced defenses and well-trained troops, and in the situation we are in now, weathering out the storm is an easy task. We're also extremely self-sufficient, as you can witness," she says as she gestures to the landscape below us, "and I make it obligatory for all citizens to stay in shape and learn at least basic survival and self-defense skills. However, the fact remains that, no matter how good the weaponry, defenses, and training, the Capitol's forces are numerically-superior. This also ties back into us being surrounded. Even if we are able to withstand a constant onslaught, there is the psychological health and morale of those under siege to be taken into account. In fact, my most liberal estimates of how long this place can function under constant siege before capitulating is around eighteen months.

"So I need to have good reason, or two, if I'm to take this leap of faith."

So Porus' reason for her current stance is the safety of the citizens under her watch? Seems like a pretty solid and admirable argument from this angle. However, if I play this right, I think I can use it to my advantage.

"What about Wiress?"

I swear I see Porus' jaw clench at the mention of her name. _Good._ "What about her?"

"Wasn't she a citizen of your community?"

"Yes. Your point?"

"Well, you did say your citizens' protection is your utmost priority. Are you going to let her killer go unpunished?" I'm taking a big gamble with this statement, and I hate using the dead as pawns, but there's a chance that this argument may give me an opening.

"I do not appreciate you using her name to further your agenda, Mellark. Besides, her killer met his end. By the very hand of your district partner, I believe. It doesn't matter if we or others were the ones to take him down."

"I don't like invoking her anymore than you, but my point remains. And you know as well as me that Gloss was not the true guilty party in this. Who was the one who put her in that situation?"

"A situation that you helped start."

"Because our hands were forced." I lean back while taking a long sip. "We can do this all night."

When Porus doesn't say anything in return, I continue, "Even ignoring the injustice of the reaping, there's the little tidbit that the victors were supposed to be untouchable by the Games; the Quell changed that. If the victors are able to get reaped, what is to stop Snow from setting his sights on Central's children? Considering how much he likes unwavering loyalty, I am sure that you sitting on the fence is something he doesn't appreciate. Like you said yourself, he may not be able to touch your workers, but he can take their loved ones; hell, he just has to take a couple to make them live in fear like the rest of the districts. And I wouldn't be surprised if he considered the Guardians something that's no longer needed."

"We'll fight back if that's the case."

"Oh, then you'll fight? You said it yourself that a defensive war by Central can only last so long in the face of a 'numerically-superior' threat, especially if time has passed for Snow to rebuild his Peacekeeper forces and keep you from recruiting more Guardians. And with Rebellion presumably crushed, it's not like you are going have anybody stand by to help you. Hell, due to your neutrality, I wouldn't be surprised if those in the districts resent you enough to actually help the Capitol.

"And speaking about unwavering loyalty…" I pause a bit just to make sure to myself that this is a good idea. On one hand, Porus may appreciate my candor and understand what's at stake. On the other, giving her the idea that there's distrust within the Rebellion… "I would like to let you know that I speak for the Rebellion, not District Thirteen. In any case, I have no doubt that Alma Coin is poised to replace Snow as president; from what I've seen, she is also the type of person who likes nothing more than unquestioning loyalty. If that's the case, I am sure that she will view Central with extreme suspicion considering that you relied purely on this community's indispensability to stay relevant. While the amnesty would probably stay in place, I wouldn't be unsurprised if this place becomes fairly uncomfortable. This is not a threat but merely a warning.

"Look, I get that you didn't want to risk your people by getting involved, even after the last reaping. And of course I can't guarantee Central's safety should you choose to join us. However, I don't see how staying neutral could end well for you with the current options, and I trust _you_ to be pragmatic enough to realize that hoping for a third option is probably the ultimate risk. Also, I know you have no love for the Capitol, whereas a victorious Rebellion could be quite rewarding."

I can't tell if my spiel has a positive or negative reaction. All she does is ask, "Is there anything else you wish to add?"

"Actually there's one last point I'd like to make. Though I think it's something more for the provost."

"Humor me."

"Well, my point is this: why settle for less?" I decide to gesticulate dramatically with my statement.

That actually causes the commander to lift an eyebrow. "Settle for less?"

"Think of all the potentials the advancements made could have on society. And with each advancement society makes, you get a more advanced generation to contribute the best minds to this place, which helps churn out more advancements and so on.

"But what do Central's advancements get used for? To make the cozy lives of the Capitol citizens even cozier and next Games flashier than the previous one. Makeup and entertainment. That's just the ones that are actually picked. What about the useful advancements that fall by the wayside because the Capitol doesn't find them useful? If I didn't know any better, I would bet that folks here in Central have a bit of resentment at that."

I expected for Porus to not say anything, but she actually mutters, "You have no idea…"

"Well, I think that in that in a free society, there is a way better chance for this place to contribute its full potential to society."

_Now I'm done. Just as well; I think we ran out of tea. _

Porus seems to sense the finality of my statement as she sends the tea set back. "Well, you have definitely given me a lot to think about. And not only were my predictions of you bringing in a new voice justified, but I also do appreciate your honest candor.

"However, like I said earlier, this is not a decision for me to make lightly. I have to not only think on things, but also consult others for their thoughts as well as to plan for contingencies. It is something that could take days," she finishes while looking at me with a pointed expression as if daring me to demand her to rush the proceedings.

"That is perfectly acceptable." Though it cuts things a bit close with the end of the ceasefire drawing near.

"I knew that you'd be agreeable. If you wish, you and your companions are free to stay here for the duration. In fact, I'd rather you stay as I may wish to ask you further questions down the road."

"Works for me. I'll have to ask the others though."

"Understood."

As we head back to the elevator, I take one more look to the west to see the last traces of magenta fading away. _Yep, definitely done in good time._

We stop at Porus' floor to put our coats and shoes on before heading the rest of the way. As the elevator begins its descent, I remember one of Lucius' offers. "Though if I do stay—"

"Yes, regardless of my decision, you have permission to get a new prosthetic leg in the meantime. Considering Medical's desire for a test subject, there's no need to worry about this being a drain of resources on this community."

Before I can ask how she already knows about that, Porus simply explains, "Ever since he found out that you were coming here, my son has been yammering about how we needed to get you a new prosthesis. He has been doing those past few days." She begins rubbing her temples. "Nonstop."

I'm barely able to resist chuckling at the idea of the commander being nagged to the ends of the earth by that guy.

When we finally reach the ground floor, and the doors to the elevator open, we are greeted with a shrill Capitol voice. "Porus! What the hell do you — is that who I think it is?"

I think I actually hear the commander give an irritated sigh, though she immediately speaks in her usual professional and dispassionate tone. "Ah, Ms. Sunsilver, I was just having a nice dinner with Mr. Mellark here. Mellark, this is Poppæa Sunsilver, attaché to the Capitol."

The woman has even more makeup caked on her bony face than I ever remember Effie having. Little feathers are attached at the end of her wig's locks, and the dress she's wearing appears to be covered in chartreuse down; this plus the talon-like nails she has makes her look like a newly-hatched chick that fell in a vat of dyes. I bet the mutts stay clear of her out of fear of accidentally choking or poisoning themselves on something.

Despite suspecting that this is a person I don't want to get to know more — hell, the dogs next to me are actually growling a bit — I incline my head to her. "Evening, ma'am."

The attaché ignores me and continues to yell — screech is more like it; her eyes are practically bugging out of her head — at Porus'. "So you not receive rebels and allow them to run freely around the place, but also dine with their representative? I should report you to the Capitol!"

"I doubt that's necessary."

"Unless you arrest this traitor and his cronies, I find it very necessary." This time, I give a snort of laughter over this dizzy bint referring to guys like Gale and Haymitch as my cronies. She glares at me before saying smugly, "It is about time this madhouse either shows some gratitude to its benefactor or has a change in management."

To her credit, Porus manages to stay unruffled, though her voice seems to be gaining a harder edge. "Last I checked, we are currently under a ceasefire. Also they are our gues—"

"Nobody cares about your stupid antiquated ideas of hospitality!" Sunsilver screams as she whips out a small pistol and aims it at me.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, I admit that I **_**may**_** have had a little too much fun going overboard on the description porn in this chapter.**

**Without Greasy Sae there to work her magic, I imagine the food in Thirteen to be like the rest of the district: bland and soulless so as to just keep you functional.**

**Yay, cliffie!**


	25. Decisions

As I see the muzzle flash and hear the sharp report, I get introduced to a little fact of life… or death, I guess:

Being shot sucks.

I mean, of course it's a given considering all the puncturing and dying that a high-velocity projectile tends to bring. However I never truly appreciated the magnitude of suckiness until now.

Yes, the gun that's used looks like a peashooter, and, yes, my coat's armored. Not to mention that it doesn't quite compare to being skewered in the leg, with said leg becoming infected for a while before a big nasty mutt decides to clamp down on it.

It still sucks.

I feel as if I'm punched and actually stumble back a bit into the wall behind me. Fortunately it appears that Beetee was correct in his claims that the coat would be capable of stopping a bullet from entering me; at least, it doesn't feel as if it entered me. Unfortunately, he's also correct in that it would still hurt like hell; because, moments later, extreme pain blossoms in my chest with the first breath I take and just keeps on going.

However, as I slowly slide down the wall to land in a crumpled heap, I'm still of clear enough mind to observe a second fact of life:

There are a few things in this world that are universally considered to be a really bad idea.

Such things include climbing an electric fence while it's still buzzing, picking wild fruit with no prior foraging experience, messing around with a tracker jacker nest, and hiring a child molester to babysit. Stuff like that.

Oh yeah, and insulting a host in their own home while breaking said host's ground rules; doubly so if that host is armed. Really, really bad idea.

Sunsilver's smug expression of triumph is replaced with an agonized scream as her hand is sliced off by a sword-wielding Porus. I'm frankly at a loss for how the commander's able to move so quickly. One moment, she's at my side; the next, she's a couple meters away and holding the tip of her sword at the throat of the gibbering Capitol official who's currently backed-up against a pillar. Judging from the strange shape of that sword — it's obviously a double-bladed straight sword, but instead of tapering to a sharp tip like most, this one actually seems to gradually broaden from the hilt before terminating abruptly at a blunt end; it makes the blade look more rectangular than anything sword-like — being stabbed in the neck with that would probably be even more painful than with a regular one. During all this time, the commander's expression doesn't seem to change.

She casually tilts her head towards me and, with the same calm air, asks, "Are you alright, Mellark?"

"I'll live…" I manage to painfully gasp out.

"My son and your companions should be here very soon. In the meantime, if you can, I suggest removing that coat to make things go a lot smoother."

I try but it turns out that moving my left arm sends a whole new wave of pain accompanied by a slight bout of nausea. I can't even push away the dogs that are currently licking at my face. So I the best I can do is to carefully unbutton it, and undo the belt one-handed, before shimmying my right arm out of the sleeve. During this time, I look at Porus and appreciate just how scary that woman can be.

Her expression may otherwise be fairly tranquil and impassive, but those eyes… Reflected in those fathomless eyes is pure distilled fury, and not an ounce of remorse.

As she lectures Sunsilver, Porus' tone remains even and dispassionate, yet each syllable is laden with enough venom to even make me cringe back a bit. "'Antiquated', huh? I'm not surprised that you think in such a manner; lackeys of the Capitol have always viewed us with amused contempt at best. Well, do you know that this 'antiquated' custom was the only thing protecting your sybaritic hide? Because, ever since you got here, you have been a barely-tolerable presence to—"

Sunsilver sobs, "I'm sorry! I ju—"

"Don't. Interrupt. Me." To accentuate her statement, Porus presses her sword against the Capitolite's throat. "How typical. You act all superior before and up to the point of shooting a boy who has wronged you in no manner at all. But when the chips are down and you find yourself against someone more powerful, you mewl for mercy like the sniveling coward that you are.

"Well, I would like to key you in on a little fact: I am not merciful." She looks over to a couple of Guardians standing apprehensively by. "Travis. Wilson. Take this woman over to patched-up; then confine her in the brig."

"Yes, Commander." Both of them are actually smirking a bit as they escort the bleeding official out of the hall.

Once they depart, the commander calmly wipes off her sword with a cloth before sheathing it and sighing, "Damn age is catching up to me."

"Looked impressive from here," I quip despite the pain. What the hell was Porus like when she was younger? I'd bet that even now, and even with her diminutive size, she'd be able to take down guys like Cato or Brutus without breaking a sweat.

"It would have been more impressive if I got there before that idiot fired off a shot."

"Spilt milk."

"You seem to be taking this all in stride."

That elicits a laugh from me, which I regret immediately with a wince. "Ow… If you remember, I've dealt with far worse."

"True." I swear that I actually see a ghost of a smile appear on her face. That quickly vanishes as several Guardians, plus Mayor Charlton, stride grimly over. The Guardian in the lead looks a bit older than the rest; also, instead of fatigues, he's dressed in a suit-like uniform with slacks and a coat like Porus'.

After going through the greeting protocol and assurances that everything's taken care of, Porus says to me, "Mellark, meet my senior advisor, Sergeant Major Trajan Santos."

Due to my current state, all I do is give Santos a smile and a small wave, which he returns with a slight nod. He then turns back to Porus, "Commander, I have some urgent news."

"Need me to leave?" I ask, even though the only way I'm getting out of here is if someone helps me.

"Actually, Mr. Mellark, I'd rather you stay. This partly concerns your group."

A wave of dread settles over me, but I resist the temptation to press the guy for questions. In any case, he begins to summarize exactly what happened.

"There was an incident in the hanger. A contingent of disgruntled Peacekeepers moved to confront the District Thirteen soldiers."_Ah, dammit…_ Thing is, I'm a bit unsurprised. As we were being escorted out of the hanger, I remember a group of Peacekeepers giving us really nasty looks. However, I ignored them assuming that they would at least honor the ceasefire, if not Central's ground rules. Seems that I was wrong.

Anxiety builds — I really hope no one got hurt — as the sergeant continues on: "Our folks attempted to intervene; however, the moment they got there, things escalated and the Peacekeepers opened fire." He gives a long exhale. "Fortunately, we were able to pacify the situation without too many people getting hurt."

"Casualties?" Porus asks stonily.

"Nothing life-threatening." I breathe a small sigh of relief at the news. "One of the soldiers from District Thirteen was grazed in the side, and another got hit in the shoulder. Some minor burns for the Peacekeepers as well as probable auditory damage. As for our forces: one mild concussion, a couple wounded arms, one wounded leg, and some bruised ribs. So, by not counting minor bruises and scrapes, that would make four Guardians injured."

The commander clenches her jaw a couple more times at that last bit. "Did the District Thirteen soldiers partake in the fight or directly contribute to the escalation leading up to it?" I freeze at that question. If our guys did so, then we are possibly in deep shit.

Fortunately, Santos shakes his head. "Both eyewitness accounts and surveillance footage refute that idea. No weapons were discharged from the side of District Thirteen. In fact, Commander Boggs immediately ordered his soldiers back into their hovercraft. It was at this point that the Peacekeepers started firing.

"It's also probably pertinent to mention that not all of the Peacekeepers were involved in the altercation. Besides the pilots, several stayed back and a couple even tried to dissuade their companions from the confrontation; all of them are still currently detained. Also, I've just been informed me that while the Peacekeepers already held animosity towards the rebels, it was apparently Ms. Sunsilver who encouraged them to attack. Currently, Intelligence is cross-examining her for further details.

"So, that's what we have so far. How would you like us to proceed?"

Porus only seems to think for barely a minute before she answers: "Those Peacekeepers who were non-aggressors are to be released. However, they and their hovercraft are also to be completely disarmed, and their departure shall be postponed till I say so. As for the rest…" She turns to the Mayor. "Jon, is there anything important happening tomorrow?"

Charlton shakes his head. "Not that I'm aware of."

"In which case, send a message out. At noon, we will be having a broadcast from the Glade. I trust you to have everything prepared by then."

"Of course," he murmurs, before briskly walking away while barking orders into his communicator. Before he left however, I think I saw a wide smirk appear on the mayor's face along with a slight glint in his eyes. Actually, other than Santos and Porus, everybody else present looks positively giddy with delight. It's a bit disturbing.

Porus proceed to state to Santos, "Of course you know the protocol. In this case, the statements and any item of importance for the condemned can be taken with their hovercraft on its way back to Two. If that's all, then you're dismissed."

As the sergeant heads out, my group barges in. They apparently used a bit of the time to change as Gale's in his usual Thirteen get-up, and Lucius is wearing jeans and a t-shirt; however, the latter still has his medical kit and hat on. Also judging from how unsteady Haymitch is on his feet, it looks like he finally got his hands on some booze. I guess they didn't hear the details about what happened to me, because upon seeing my slumped form, the guys practically flip shit and rush over.

Within an instant, Lucius is at my side and gently shooing the dogs away as he rummages around in his pack. "Krysos, Agyros: please give the guy some room. Mom, we came here as soon when we heard about the incident in the hanger. What happened here?"

"Ms. Sunsilver, in her infinite wisdom, thought it would have been a smart idea to attack our guest here. From the looks of it, the bullet hit him on the chest, near his left shoulder."

"HE GOT SHOT?" Haymitch roars incredulously; a mixture of horror and rage is written on his face. Gale also looks as if he's about to go berserk. Beetee… is concerned, and that's about it.

"I believe that I made myself clear the first time," Porus says with a twinge of irritation. "In any case, she's going to receive the punitive measures for her transgressions."

"Never did like her," Lucius mutters as begins working on me with the same look of determination that I saw in the picture earlier. Before I know it, my coat's completely off — how he managed to remove the thing without causing me more pain than usual, I have no clue — and the shirt's cut away. The guy's working so quickly and smoothly — all the while, somehow keeping conversational — that I can hardly follow what's happening as he begins examining me. Already, a nasty hexagonal splotch of dark reddish-purple has formed on my skin.

While Haymitch settles for sitting with Beetee to watch me from a couch, Gale seems to be getting increasingly fidgety. One moment's he's at my side; the next, he's pacing back and forth; then he's looking over Lucius' shoulder. At one point, the corpsman finally says in a calm tone, "Gale, I know that you're concerned, but you're not making things any easier by hovering over me."

That doesn't seem to do anything to ease the hunter's disposition. The final straw comes when I involuntarily let out a hiss of pain from Lucius checking my ribs to figure out the damage. Before I can say anything, Gale is lifting him up by his shirt and pressing him against a wall.

"Why the hell aren't you giving him any painkillers?" Gale seethes.

I'm in no shape to yell at him to stand down, so I settle for groaning in frustration.

_Dammit Gale… Are you trying to get us all in trouble?_

However, to my surprise, Porus has no sign that she's angry or concerned with the current turn of events other than a slight expression of irritation. Looking back at the pair of guys next to me, I notice that Lucius is complete unfazed. He must have things under control, though it doesn't seem that way.

"Right now, Peeta's in a stable non-life-threatening condition," he explains softly, as if Gale were a scared child instead of a guy who could beat him to a pulp. "I need to see the extent of his injuries so I can make a proper treatment that allows him to heal completely."

"Look at him!" Gale shouts as he points towards me. "It's pretty obvious as to what his injuries are."

"Gale, calm down, you aren't doing him any favors by losing your head."

"Don't tell me to fucking calm down! Peeta wouldn't be in this mess if we were there." The hunter seems to be getting more hysterical by the minute. "Peeta's not supposed to get shot. He's not a fighter. He's supposed to be the guy who manages to avoid conflict whatsoever. He… He…"

The whole time, Lucius still maintains the same calming tone in his voice. "Gale…"

"And now you're causing him more pain!" For some reason, Gale's speech is starting to slur. Probably drunk. "What the hell kind of medic are you?"

"Gale."

"What?"

"Take a nap."

He gives a bleary scowl. "I'm not tired."

"That wasn't a suggestion."

Before Gale can retort, his face slackens and eyes roll to the back of his head as he loses consciousness. Lucius quickly catches his now-limp body before it can fall to the floor; he proceeds to half-carry-half-drag the hunter towards a nearby chair and gently lowers him down into it.

The event that just unfolded causes Haymitch to sit up and send a glare over. "The hell you just do to Hawthorne?"

The corpsman just holds up a pen-like injector in his hand. _How did he jab Gale without being noticed?_ "Are you going to be difficult as well, Mr. Abernathy?"

Fortunately, my mentor just leans back into the couch. "Nah… I'm just curious in case I need to shut down certain uppity kids." _Thanks Haymitch…_

I look at Gale's slumped figure. I have never seen the guy have a meltdown like that.

As if sensing an unanswered question, Lucius smiles at me and says, "Gale's going to be fine. He's just worried and needs some time to cool off. Now let's get you fixed up."

Without any further distractions, he finishes up his examination and begins patching me up. Besides the obvious external bruising, I apparently have several bruised ribs; fortunately, there's nothing more than that. He quickly puts a cold pack on and explains that I'll have to wear my left arm in a sling, which he'll provide later on, for a short while to prevent further straining. Finally, he injects me with something that banishes the pain away with wonderful fuzziness. I embrace the fuzziness.

Once Lucius has finished working on me — I'm even given a small piece of candy in the end — Porus gives me an expression that shows she's made a decision:

"It seems as if the Capitol is intentionally attempting to force my hand. So, congratulations Mellark; I believe that you have yourself an alliance."

I give her a weak grin and thumbs-up before I'm overtaken by blissful unconsciousness.

* * *

***The Capitol: Five Hours Later***

That was a wonderfully productive morning: fresh air, serene setting, watching that idealistic fool squirm and go through an existential crisis… Who knew that boy was capable of so much venom? Not him, it seems.

Really, short of crushing this little rebellion, I couldn't ask for more.

I'm about to call it a night when I get a call from Central of all places. Maybe they finally decided to get off their high horse and join the fight.

"Ah, Roxana, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Seeing her grit her teeth at my usage of the former name is quite satisfying. To this day, I'm conflicted as to whether appointing that woman to be the Head Peacekeeper of Central was a good idea. On one hand, I owed her father who, as the Commander of the Peacekeeper Corps at the time, was instrumental in my rise to power. Not to mention that Central, under her oversight, has been content to ignore talks of rebelling. On the other, I did not anticipate her to make the community so independent. It was merely due to their increased innovation and productivity — not to mention their low-key nature and the fact that they play by the rules during reapings and Tours — that I was willing to turn the other way as she morphed her security force into something unrecognizable. I was even willing to agree to her youth program and concede to having those of age in Central be exempt from reapings. In my mind, her refusal to commit her troops to the fight was the final straw.

Well, if she is coming to offer her support, it's too little too late. After this conflict all over, I'm cutting off her supply of individuals to supply her precious Guardian Corps and will gradually phase them out in favor of proper Peacekeepers. I may even consider tweaking the age groups a bit so as to have both of her "children" in the next Games. I could have them continuously chased by stinging flies until they die; a fitting punishment for a community of fence-sitters.

As usual, the commander isn't much for pleasantries besides established protocol. "Spare me your false affability, Mr. President. Several of your Peacekeepers, as well that idiot of an attaché, committed a severe breach of hospitality by firing their guns without provocation. Several of my men were injured in the process."

"Well, that's unfortunate." It really is. The one thing I can respect about the system she installed in Central is the upheld and strengthened principle of hospitality. Such things ensure even the most unruly individuals know to toe the line. "Well, if you wish to take any disciplinary action, I won't stop you."

"How magnanimous of you." _My, someone's feeling fairly snarky._ "However, that is not why I called. I've decided that Central will no longer be a neutral party in this conflict."

I allow myself a wide smile. _Finally. Still, you're too late to prevent the fallout after this._ "You have no idea how pleased this makes me. I'll be sending a couple military advi—"

"Who said anything about us fighting on your side?"

_Wait… _"What?" I growl as I push myself up to lean towards the projection.

"Did I not make myself clear the first time? Very well then, allow me to reiterate: We are joining the Rebellion. Is that clear enough?"

"What in the world compelled you do such a thing?"

"Let's just say that I currently don't have that much confidence in the rebels finishing you off on their own."

_She was already preparing for my downfall?_ When I don't say anything, she adds, "Try not to take things personally. I just don't trust you to treat Central with any sort of dignity in the possible event of your victory."

_So she has a general idea of what my plans are. I never took the woman to be a fool, but why now all of the sudden? Why…_

The realization hits me like a cascade of frigid water.

_Mellark._

_That conniving son of a bitch!_ He must have used the ceasefire as an easy way to sneak into District Three to convince the commander to have a change in tactics. Those rebels are also probably why those Peacekeepers and my official broke protocol, which likely solidified the commander's decision. And there's nothing I can do at this moment without going back on my word about the ceasefire agreement.

Little bastard played me this entire time.

A little blinking light signifies that I have an incoming call, but I ignore it.

However, the commander seems to have noticed me looking at the alert. "You probably want to get that."

I finally answer the comm. "Make it fast," I bark, "I'm busy."

Ferrier stammers, "Sorry sir, but I think you need to see this."

A map of the nation is bought up. In bright yellow, the communications network sprawls across the area. At this point, they are not only integral for overseeing loyalist and Peacekeeper operations; they are how we are able to monitor everything that happens in the districts.

That's when I notice the problem: the vast majority of the network is flickering instead of being stable as it should be. To my horror, District Three goes completely dark.

"Explain, Mr. Ferrier," I grit out while attempting to maintain my composure. "Why is this happening?"

"I don't know! We been trying to maintain control but—"

"Ferrier?"

"Y-yes sir?"

"You're fired." _And in line to be an Avox for the rest of your miserable and incompetent life._

Districts Six, Seven, Eight, and Nine are gone now.

I put the commander, who still has that infuriatingly impassive expression on her face, back on line. "What have you done?"

"Something I should have done in the very beginning. You forget who developed and installed the majority of your communications systems, as well as your precious surveillance devices."

"You know that you and your family will be some of the first ones I take care of when this over," I hiss.

She just snorts. "I seriously doubt that. And I dare you to throw your white-clad lackeys at us. We'll be prepared to receive them."

Now it's Five, Ten, Eleven, and Twelve.

"You should have never reaped my friends." This time, her voice is laden with spite as she glares at me.

The traditional Career districts are the last to go.

In the end, the only places, other than the Capitol, that still have operational communications are the mountain complex in Two and the MOB in Twelve. It is fortunate that I decided to overhaul the Capitol's and Two's systems in the past couple years without Central's assistance. However, due to the relatively hasty way the line to Twelve has been set up, even that connection is unstable.

Of course the stony bitch has to get the final word in before she closes off her line. "Goodbye, Mr. President. This will be the last time we speak."

* * *

**A/N: If anybody can spot any major errors in protocol for dealing with the injury that Peeta has, please don't hesitate to let me know.  
**


End file.
